The Apostle of Tarsus
by sailorhathor
Summary: Sometimes, when I think of what Castiel did to us, I want to kill him. But most days, I thank him. Sam Winchester/Theresa Callan
1. Chapter 1: Chasing Destiny

Title: The Apostle of Tarsus

Author: Sailorhathor

Fandoms: Supernatural/Miracles Xover

Pairing: Sam Winchester/Theresa Callan

Rating: Adult (R)

Word Count: 31,721 total

Warnings: A few Het sex scenes that are graphic in an R-rated way. Language. Spoilers for a few episodes of "Miracles." Takes places mid-season 5 of SPN.

Summary: _Sometimes, when I think of what Castiel did to us, I want to kill him. But most days, I thank him._

Author's Notes: This story has a sequel that will be released in a few weeks, so please don't kill me for the mega cliffhanger. :D Chapters 1-4 were betaed by Sammie. wine_into_water and tvsgrady gave it a good readthrough and provided some helpful impressions. Thanks to them, and to Nicky for providing the German and French.

The idea for this story came to me about November of 2010. I've been working on it ever since then. It may be one of my favorite crossover ideas ever.

For the record, Theresa Callan is not an OC. Many aspects of her personality and character makeup come right out of the "Miracles" series. Her name is on Paul's dossier from "The Friendly Skies." We got a brief glimpse of her when Paul dreamed about her death in "Mother's Daughter." We know she was a devout Catholic who attended Father Calero's church. We know she died of cancer one week before Paul's fifth birthday, and that she had arranged with Father Calero for Paul to live under his care at the orphanage after she died. An online friend of mine purchased the original script for "Hand of God" off Ebay, which provides several facts about Theresa that were cut out of the final version - Paul says she loved roses and tuna casserole, and that she had told him his father was a very bad man who lived far, far away from them, which was for the better. The rest, I made up.

Told from Sam's first person POV. Takes place in a completely different universe from any other SPN/Miracles 'verse I've created.

Chapter 1: Chasing Destiny

Words: 4,218

Angels lie.

I bet you didn't know that. Probably didn't even think it was possible, not after all the TV you've seen of Michael Landon and Roma Downey playing perfect little angels, the most moral creatures ever created, right? They save people who aren't meant to die and set things right.

Heck, you probably didn't even know they actually exist. It's not like everyone hangs around with them, has been pushed around and beaten up by them, has had their existence shoved down their throats.

I probably shouldn't get so mad at Castiel. He only did what he thought was right. But sometimes, I can't help it.

I should explain about myself. My name is Sam Winchester, and practically since my birth, my family has been hunting down dangerous and evil supernatural creatures. A lot more of them exist than you would ever want to admit to yourself, trust me. It may just be easier for you to keep your head in the sand if you can - you'll sleep easier at night. If you knew everything that I know, you'd be up all night, patrolling your house with a shotgun and checking on your kids every five minutes. No, it's probably better if you don't know what lurks out there in the dark.

I had no choice in the matter.

Angels cannot move around on Earth without the benefit of a human host; otherwise, they'd be too-bright balls of light flying around, burning out the eyes of the populace. Seriously, looking upon them in their natural form burns your eyes out of your head - I've seen it happen. Castiel is one of these angels who came to Earth to act as some sort of advisor to my brother and me. He took a host, or a "vessel" as they call them, a man named Jimmy Novak. This will be important later.

It's a really long story how the Apocalypse began, but it did, in the year 2009. You're probably thinking I've totally flipped, believing in a real Apocalypse, but if you look at the events of that time, you'll see there were a lot of strange things going on. Fire raining from the sky, entire towns wiped out overnight...

My brother and I - my brother's name is Dean - found out we were vessels as well; it runs in the bloodline down from Biblical times. The angels said it was destiny. In many ways, for us, it was Hell.

Dean. How can you express how much you love a person, how important they are in your life, with mere words? He's always been there for me. Always had my back. Has taken more shit from me than he ever deserved, more than anyone else ever has. And still, Dean's there, ready to forgive. I love him so much. I hope we never get separated by the hunting life again.

Anyway, we found out we were vessels, destined to act out the end of the Apocalypse together. Dean, it turned out, was the vessel of Michael the Archangel. Yes, _the_ Michael. And I was lucky enough to be the vessel of Lucifer. Yeah, that Lucifer. Satan. The Devil. If that blows your mind, think of how I felt. The man who is destined to be the vessel of a creature like that must be a horrible man, you're probably thinking.

Right?

You may not believe me, but it is possible for that man to be a good person. Someone who would never want to act as the devil's meat suit, but was fated to do so by a destiny he didn't want. Dean and I were supposed to act our parts and accept the warring brother angels into our bodies, and be puppeted into a war they had been preparing to fight for over two thousand years. The very idea perverted everything we had built over our lives. Two brothers who fought to save the world, being forced to destroy it. Dean and I had no intention of doing that.

There came a day in early 2010 that Castiel came to us and said that he knew of a man, a very important man, who had been fated to help save the world. I brought up the fact that the angels had said that Dean would be the one to do this, the one who put Lucifer back in Hell, that _prophecy_ had said it would be Dean, but Cas responded that Dean would do it with help. It seemed that Chuck the Prophet had received a new vision.

Yeah, I know. The Prophet _Chuck?_ It's kinda funny.

We all set out for Boston the next day, where this man would be found. Castiel said his name was Paul Callan, and he worked for a paranormal investigation group called Sodalitas Quaerito. Say that three times fast! Or, just say SQ, like we do. The group consisted of Alva Keel, Evelyn Santos, and Paul. Castiel said that Paul had been having psychic visions of the coming Apocalypse, so he wouldn't be that surprised when we walked in.

Even so, I didn't expect Paul's overdramatic reaction when we entered that office. His eyes got big, and he backed away, looking like he was about to throw up. "You," he said. "It's you."

"You've been having dreams about the vessels," Castiel stated matter-of-factly, almost like he didn't even have to guess at any of the coming events.

"Yes," Paul replied. He pointed at Dean and I with a shaking finger. "You're the vessel of Michael the Archangel," Paul said when he indicated Dean. Then he looked at me. I don't think I've ever seen him so afraid. "And you're..." was all he said, and turned and ducked away into another room, where he stayed for nearly twenty minutes.

We all gave Paul some time to recover. Truthfully, I needed the time myself as well. It was never easy to have people react to you that way, when they found out who you were. But it was to be expected, with Paul being raised as a Christian in the Catholic faith.

Dean and I told Alva Keel everything we knew about the Apocalypse. The woman, whom they called Evie, stood by and listened, not saying much. She seemed to defer to Mr. Keel a great deal. It was obvious he was the major brains of the operation, but that didn't mean the other two didn't have strong opinions of their own. It just meant that Mr. Keel had a great deal of knowledge on the supernatural, and his associates knew it.

His looks were quite striking. I don't mean that in a drooly sort of way, just that the man had piercing blue eyes and a strong chin, with a slight European accent which turned out to be Scottish. He made a definite impression on me.

"When Paul began having these dreams, I knew they were serious," he said. "It's still quite a shock to have you all walk right into the office one day."

Dean and I nodded. "I can imagine," I added.

Evie couldn't stop looking at Castiel, a little uneasy. She too had a striking appearance, but more for how pretty she was, one of those people you think could have been a model if they had that ambition. Long, curly black hair and a very attractive face. When there was a lull in our conversation, she spoke up. "Are you really an angel?" she asked Cas.

Castiel nodded. "Yes, I am an angel of the Lord. Paul told you that?"

"Yes." She looked him up and down. "Said you dressed like Columbo. I couldn't believe it, but..."

Castiel glanced from one person to another. "Columbo?" he said.

Leaning over to him, Dean whispered, "TV character. He wears a trench coat too."

"Oh."

Paul came out of the office then. He still gave me those looks, like it was too overwhelming to even lay eyes upon me. But we tried to have a civilized conversation.

Paul's appearance is a bit soft, with deep brown eyes and high cheekbones. Very boyish, very youthful. He has his mother's smile. I trusted him in an instant, and I couldn't have even told you why, not then. I did everything I could to set him at ease.

"Mr. Callan, have you ever been put in a situation where people kept telling you things were going to happen one way, but you knew that way was wrong?" I asked him.

He thought about it a second, and then leaned back against a desk and let out a small laugh. Some memory, a bitter one it seemed by his expression, came to him then. "Yeah."

"Did people ever tell you you were destined to become something you never imagined for yourself?"

Again, he took a short time to think about that, tapping lightly at his bottom lip with two fingers. He looked up at me and replied, "Yes. There was this boy, and he said that..." The memories flooded his mind and got him all choked up; Paul took a moment to swallow down the emotion that constricted his throat. "Never mind, it's a very long story."

"I'd be willing to listen if you want to tell me."

"No, no, it's too much to tell. Just know that once, I was involved in a bad situation where certain individuals tried to get me to believe I was destined to kill a whole group of people simply because they had experienced a rare paranormal event. That it would be for the best of all humanity that they die. For a time, I... I started to believe that these individuals were right.

"You might think that would make a man feel good, knowing he was chosen to save the world, but... not me. I didn't want that job. There was so much left up to chance, so much to question. Would I be doing the right thing? What if these individuals were wrong, what if the message didn't mean what it seemed to mean, would I be damning myself to Hell if I killed these people? And could I even do it?" He looked me in the eyes then, very seriously. "It's one thing to tell a man to kill others because they are evil. It's another thing to actually do it."

I nodded in complete understanding. "It's a very hard choice to make."

Now Paul nodded.

I added, "Imagine being one of those people who experienced the rare paranormal event. Someone thinks you're evil, and you know you're not. You're just a pawn in someone else's game. Nothing you can help. You just want to be good. But they keep telling you you're not."

To that, Paul sat back against the desk again, his arms crossed, and thought about my problem. It didn't take long for him to look up at me with a sorrowful expression upon his face. "That must be very tough for you."

Finally, he understood my point of view. "It most definitely is."

Shortly after, the mood was lightened by Paul and Castiel having a bowing contest. Paul wanted to bow to the holy angel, and Castiel said it was he who should praise God while in Paul's presence. First, Paul got down on one knee and lowered his head, then Castiel did the same. It was quite comical. But it did lead to Paul asking why Cas would even want to praise God and all that just for being in the same room with him.

"You are a very important man, Paul Callan," Castiel replied.

"People have been saying that for years. What does it mean, Castiel?" He looked so desperate and lost at that moment; it tears my heart out to think about it. "Why am I different? Please tell me."

Cas looked at Dean and I, and then back at Paul. He seemed to be unsure that he should tell him anything about his destiny. The angel chose his words carefully. "It's possible... very possible... that you are one of the most crucial vessels who ever lived. The fate of the world may rest with you, Dean, and Sam."

Paul reeled. Putting a hand over his mouth, he began to laugh, his eyes glistening with overwhelmed tears. "What? What kind of vessel am I?"

"I shouldn't tell you."

"Castiel, please, I'm begging you - "

Suddenly, Cas became very serious; it was obvious he was going to be immovable on this issue. "No. No, I'm sorry Paul, but I shouldn't have even told you that. It can be dangerous to know too much about your own destiny. Just know that when the time comes, you'll know to say yes."

"Say yes to who?"

Castiel only repeated himself. "When the time comes, you'll know."

Paul couldn't help it, and began to cry at that moment. I wished I could comfort the guy. Evie put an arm around him and ushered him out of the room where he could weep in peace for a little while.

I understood. I knew what my destiny was. Paul didn't. It's a lot of pressure, to be told something like that, and not even know who it is you are supposed to say yes to.

Later, Paul came back. He wanted to know why Dean and I had gotten into our line of business. I suppose it was a way of changing the subject. Dean told most of the story, about how our mother had been burned alive on the ceiling of my nursery back in 1983 by a demon named Azazel. Paul recognized the name from some extra books of the Bible that had not been accepted as canonical. That made his eyes get big again. Apparently, those books were real. Dean explained how the event had sent our father on a quest to find that demon, and kill him, and how we had gone along for the ride. Our entire lives had been about fighting evil, Dean, since he was four, and me, practically since birth.

Something about that made Alva speak up, telling us his own story. "When I was in school at Cambridge, my minor was Linguistics. I was analyzing patterns of bird song. Field ravens. The easiest way to do that was to sit in a field and record their chattering... listen to it back and make note of the patterns... and find meaning in those patterns. An ambitious project. I had no idea how it would change my life.

"My mother had passed away in 1984. When I was a child, she read to me from a storybook about a bloodhound named Mango. I loved that book." Mr. Keel laughed a little; his eyes were far away, remembering. "On November 21, 1985, the sounds on my tapes changed. Among the raven song were voices. Human voices."

"EVP?" Dean asked.

"Yes. Among those voices, I heard the voice of my dead mother. She kept saying, 'Mango.' That's all, just, 'Mango.' This is why I became a paranormal researcher. The strength of one word. I'm still searching for an explanation."

"Yeah." The story seemed to touch my brother on a level he wasn't used to acknowledging. "I would think you would. Your mother, calling to you... and she doesn't tell you why."

"It must be hard," I said. "But maybe she just wanted to say hello, and nothing more. Maybe it doesn't mean anything bad."

"It's hard to believe that, wouldn't you say? I mean, your mother calls to you from the grave, she must need something." Mr. Keel said it so matter-of-factly, and the look on his face... it tugged at my heart. I wished I had answers for him, just to calm those troubled eyes. To finally bring him the peace for which he'd searched for so long.

Paul spoke up then. "Huh. I never really thought about this, but my mother's death is fairly mundane when compared with both of yours. There was no demon to chase or voice from the grave. Just a regular human disease that kills millions." He wasn't trivializing her death, only reflecting over the differences.

"What happened?" I asked.

He took a deep breath. "My mother got a brain tumor in early 1978. She was gone within a matter of months. I went to live at the orphanage after that; I mean, I was barely five. Couldn't take care of myself."

"Where was your father?" Dean questioned.

Paul got a troubled, angry look in his eyes in reaction to that; his eyebrows dipped in the middle and he crossed his arms across his chest. "I don't know. He was never there. I remember seeing the other kids playing with their dads and asking my mother why didn't I have a daddy? Where had my father gone? And she said that he didn't want to have anything to do with us, that he had gone far, far away, and that was how it should be, because he was a very bad man. She said we were safer with him far away from us. When she talked about him, she would start to cry, and that was enough of a convincer for me that he must be a very bad person, because he had broken her heart."

Both Dean and I got a little twinge in our chests when we heard that story; obviously, Paul was still hurting badly, never having known his father and growing up without much of his parents' love to go on. At least we had had our father.

"I was almost five when my mom died too," Dean remarked.

Everyone was quiet for several long moments, brooding, thinking about our mothers and how they weren't there anymore.

Castiel was the one to break the silence. "Sam, may I speak with you in the other room?"

Everyone watched us go, wondering what Cas wanted to tell me. I wouldn't see any of them again for several months. Several months for me, anyway.

"What is it, Cas?"

"Sam, I'm certain now. Paul Callan is the man I've been looking for. He's crucial to the survival of the human race." The angel raised his hand. "I must send you back to 1978."

Angels have the power to send people backwards and forwards in time. They do this by touching you on the space between your eyes. When I saw Castiel bringing those first two fingers toward my forehead, I grabbed them and pushed them away. "Cas, what? Send me back to 1978?"

"Yes. Didn't you hear Paul? His mother died in 1978." He brought the fingers up again.

Once more, I batted them down. "Cas, explain this to me before you just zap me back in time more than thirty years, okay?"

"Alright," Castiel replied, sounding a bit put out. "There was an incident in 1978 that put Paul's life in danger, and if I send you back, you, and only you, can ensure that he's around to grow into the man you see before you now."

"Why just me? Dean can't come too?"

"No, his presence there would upset the balance. Just know that it has to be you, and that Paul's mother needs your help."

I sighed. "First Paul needs my help, now his mother? Cas, what else happens in 1978 besides Paul's mom passing away?"

"Sam... this man will never be ready to help save the world if his mother dies. Her loss affected him so profoundly that Paul does not currently have the will to act as the vessel we need him to be. His acceptance of the highest order will only cause his body to explode on contact."

"The highest order?" I asked.

Castiel waved the question away as irrelevant. "You must go back and save Paul's mother, for his sake. For the sake of us all."

"How am I supposed to save Paul's mom? She died of _cancer_."

Shaking his head, the angel explained, "Theresa Callan did not die of cancer."

That was the first time I heard her name.

Castiel continued, "She died from a spell, cast on her by demons to make it look like she had a brain tumor. The spell was slow-acting, and ate up her life force. But she can be saved from this spell."

"How?"

"There's a holy rosary, kept by a priest known to Theresa. Father Calero. We don't know where he's keeping it. If you can get that rosary, and convince her to wear it, the spell can be broken within a few weeks."

That seemed easy enough. Or, at least doable. "That's all I have to do?"

"Yes."

"And Paul Callan will get to grow up with his mother?"

"Yes, Sam, he will."

I wanted that very much for Paul. Not even I knew how much I would want it for him before this was all over. "Okay," I began, "I'll go back and find this rosary, and save Paul's mom."

Castiel seemed very relieved. "Thank you, Sam."

"I still don't understand why Dean can't come along, but I guess you know what you're doing." I took a deep breath and held it, bending my knees. When Cas didn't do anything, I said, "Well come on, let's go."

"Actually, I should give you some instructions first. I have forgotten to explain to you the circumstances under which Theresa Callan is living when you will encounter her." He looked at me very seriously. "She knows the demons are around her. She knows they want her son. And she thinks they may be the ones who have made her ill. But, she can't talk about these things with anyone. Theresa sent Paul away to live with a powerful congregation of nuns for his own safety."

"I thought Paul grew up in an orphanage?" I questioned.

"He did. Upon Theresa's death, Paul was able to return to Boston. The demons could see that her death had broken the little boy's soul, so they no longer had any need of him. As things are now, the nuns have prayer circles going 'round the clock to keep Paul's location secret, but even the mere mention of the child's name in Theresa's presence would upset the balance of the protective energy surrounding her. They want to claim Paul now, in case their death spell somehow doesn't work on his mother.

"Do you understand me, Sam? You must not ask where Paul is. You must not even say his name. It will only bring the demons straight to her. They are watching, waiting for that barrier to be weakened. If they think Theresa knows where Paul is, they will torture her until she's dead to get that information out of her. As far as you're concerned, Theresa doesn't even have a child. Do you understand how serious I am about this?"

My mind was reeling from the responsibility Castiel was placing on my shoulders. He was right; I just had to put it out of my mind that Theresa Callan even had a child, because otherwise, I would be tempted to ask her questions about her son, and to try to get her to talk about him. "Yes, Castiel, I understand," I said.

"Once Theresa's life has been saved, we can find a safe place for her to go with Paul, where the demons can't find them. If you successfully complete the task set before you, he can return to his mother's arms, safe and warm."

That sounded perfect to me. "You'll tell Dean where I went?"

"That won't be necessary. When I return you to 2010, you'll arrive at the exact second you left," explained Castiel. "Dean won't even know you were gone."

"Okay. Let's go then."

Before we left, the angel waved his hand before my eyes and said some words in Enochian. It was something he'd never done before. "Why'd you do that?" I asked.

"Protection," he said.

A split second after Castiel touched me between the eyes, I found myself standing on a street corner at mid-day, looking up at a billboard on the side of a building. It was an advertisement for an upcoming movie.

_Coming December 1978, National Lampoon's Animal House_, it said. I thought of how disappointed Dean would be that he couldn't have come along with me. _Animal House_ was one of his favorite films.

"We should go to the hotel where Theresa works," Cas instructed.

"So I can meet her?" I asked. If I was going to get her to wear this rosary, it followed that I'd have to gain her trust.

"Yes, and..." Castiel swayed on his feet. "...so I can lie down for a while."

Sometimes, Dean and I both forget how it could weaken Cas to do these trips through time. "Oh, certainly," I said, and put an arm around his shoulders to keep him upright.

"Don't worry, Sam. This shouldn't be at all complicated as long as you do as I have instructed," was the last thing he said to me before we got to the hotel.

It's as I said. Angels lie.

Sometimes, when I think of what Castiel did to us, I want to kill him. But most days, I thank him.


	2. Chapter 2: That's How it Happens

Chapter 2: That's How it Happens

Words: 5,652

Castiel pointed her out, behind the hotel front desk. "That's Theresa."

The first time I saw Theresa Callan, she had a purple and yellow scarf wrapped around her head, a sheer thing that allowed her dark brown hair to spill out and cascade down over her shoulders. I know that sounds cornball, hair cascading, but that's really what it did, in waves. She had this spunky sort of look to her, with a little button nose and a smirky grin - you know how some women have that look that tells you they take no shit? Theresa totally had that look. She was wearing the standard dress shirt, blazer, and skirt of a hotel front desk clerk, but her takes-no-shit face really made her stand out for me. The scarf couldn't be part of her standard uniform, though. I asked Castiel, "Why's she wearing the headscarf?"

"To hold on the wig."

"Wig? She's wearing a wig?"

"Yes. The radiation treatments... the chemo..."

So the cascading hair wasn't her own.

Cas added, "That's her natural hair color, though."

Confused, I asked, "Why is she having chemo and radiation treatments, Cas? You said she didn't really have cancer."

He wobbled on his feet a little, eyelids fluttering.

"Oh, gosh... should I get the hotel room?"

The angel recovered, holding onto a post for balance. "Not just yet. I'm... I'm okay."

"Well, give me the short explanation so we can check in already."

"Theresa doesn't know for sure that she's been made sick by a demonic spell. There are bad feelings, half-glanced shadows on the wall... the average person suspects they are being stalked by demons and that to think such a thing, they must be crazy. But then the priest of her church comes to her and says he thinks her child is in danger from evil forces. Theresa takes his advice, she sends Paul away for protection, and she doesn't discuss what may be happening to her. Perhaps it's for the best that someone look after her child for a while anyway, as she's been feeling very, very ill for months now.

"Imagine you are Theresa. You go to your doctor, and he says it's a brain tumor. You should start treatment right away. But you are unsure. What if your bad feeling about being besieged by demons is correct? What if the doctor is correct?"

I had begun to nod before he finished his sentence. "I'd cover all my bases, just to be safe," I replied.

"Yes. Like her son, Theresa is a devout Catholic, so she prays every day, and she has her cancer treatments. To, as you say, 'cover all' her 'bases.'"

"That poor woman," I said. "She's just doing damage to her body to fight tumors she doesn't even have. Cas, can't we tell her? Theresa could stop having the treatments and concentrate on the praying if we - "

He cut me off. "No, Sam. Any mention of what's really happening to her will bring the demons right to her. You _must_ remember that."

I nodded my head in understanding. "Okay," I said with a sigh. It really bothered me, the thought of someone going through a tough thing like chemotherapy and radiation when they didn't have to. That's such a hard thing, to keep your mouth shut for someone's own good when you know telling them the truth could be in their best interest as well.

We watched her from across the lobby for a bit. After a short time, I noticed that Castiel was now leaning his upper body against the post, eyes closed, looking very out of it. I insisted I just check in already. "Okay, Cas, I got this. I'm ready to interact with her."

"Don't blow it," he said, which made me turn back to him for a moment and laugh. He must've gotten that from Dean.

When she smiled up at me, eyes going a little wide for a second, my mind wouldn't make words. Theresa was so beautiful to me. Not an obvious beauty like a model, but a quiet one, like a regular girl you'd meet on the street, at the mall, in high school. I felt such sympathy and desire for her at the same time. To be dealing with all she was dealing with... she had to be strong. That strength only made her more attractive.

"Hello, sir, and welcome to The Millstone," she said. "Would you like to check in?"

"Uh..." My mind, words, not happening at first. Castiel's warning played through my head. _"Don't blow it."_ It seemed to snap me out of it. "Uh, yeah! Yeah, I'd love to check in. Or, I want to check in, to get a room. Yes. Ahem." That's about how I sounded. Ugh.

I could hear Dean in my head, going, _"Smooth, Sammy. Smooth."_

Theresa grinned like she was amused with me and asked, "A single?"

For a second, I looked around for her computer, but of course, she was working from a ledger. It was going to be tough to get used to the 1970's lack of technology. "No, I'm staying with my friend there." I hooked a thumb behind me at Cas, still leaning on the post.

She looked at Cas, and then back at her ledger. "Then you'll want two beds?"

"No, just one. Queen size is fine." Hey, angels don't sleep. And guys named Sammy sometimes need a brain transplant.

One eyebrow raised, Theresa looked at me quizzically, and said, "Okay," like she found my choice of sleeping arrangements to be questionable.

What she must be thinking... it hit me then. "Oh, uh, my friend there, he, he won't be there much. Just a business associate... always in and out. We don't even sleep at the same time."

"Oh," she said, writing in her ledger. Then she gave me a coy look and we both started snickering.

That's how it happens, you know. How you realize you're attracted to someone, that you have chemistry.

I rolled my eyes. "It saves money. I'd really like to get him up to the room right now - "

"Oh?" Theresa said again, putting a lot of comical emphasis into it.

Giving her a scolding look, I said, "You didn't let me finish."

She chuckled and waited for my full reply, smirking at me.

"My friend there has been drinking a little too much. He needs to go to bed." Then I added, "Alone."

"Oh, did he have a few too many martinis with lunch?"

"You could say that."

Grinning, Theresa put the ledger on the counter in front of me. "You'll be in room 208. Just sign here and pay $20 up front."

I didn't see any reason not to sign my real name. Once I'd handed over the money, she gave me two keys, and took back the ledger, reading it. "Let me know if you need anything, Mr. Winchester."

I mirrored the smile that she gave me. "Thank you, Theresa. You can call me Sam, if you want." Just hoping that didn't sound all lecherous. It always bothers me at times when I work an honest living that people will read my name tag and use my first name just because it's right there before their eyes. Too personal.

Didn't seem to bother her, though. "Alright, Sam. I'll see you around."

We kept looking at each other as I walked away, continuing to smile like idiots and chuckle giddily. I draped one of Cas's arms over my shoulders and walked him to the elevator. In my head, I was wondering if she ever liked to be called Terry, or if it was always Theresa. By the time we got to the room, Cas was bleeding from the mouth.

He was unconscious when I laid him out on the bed. First, I got a hand towel, wet it, and cleaned off his mouth. Then I took Cas under the arms and dragged him up the mattress until his head was on the pillow, and removed his shoes so he'd be more comfortable. If angels even need to be comfortable. While my mind began scheming over how I was going to accomplish my task, I rolled Castiel on his side and started to take off the trench coat and suit coat with it.

"Didjou meet 'er?" he slurred.

Oh, he was slightly awake. "Yeah. I think she likes me already."

"Good." Cas didn't react much to me taking off his coats; he was pretty out of it.

I offered an explanation anyway. "I thought you'd be more comfortable without all these coats on."

"Okay," he said, and seemed to pass out again.

Once the two coats were laid out over the back of a chair, I sat down to catch my breath. Castiel's vessel isn't a large man, but rolling him around on the bed to get a coat off of him isn't the easiest work either. Especially when he's like a rag doll. First, I should make a chart of what I know, I thought. That's what we usually did, chart out everything we knew about a case. Then -

Castiel interrupted my thoughts with one more remark. "Don't buy anything," he said. "Not yet."

That made my heart skip a beat. "Buy anything?"

Cas was out again. I got up and leaned over him, putting my hand on his chest and giving it a little shake.

He wouldn't respond.

Then it hit me. I went into my wallet and started looking at the bills.

Series 2006. Series 2006. Series 2006. They all had a recent year on them. "Oh, crap," I said out loud.

Surely, the bill I had given Theresa had a recent year on it too. Only for her, it would be a year in the future.

As I brooded in my chair for a while, I hoped she wouldn't look at the twenty too closely. It could ruin everything.

* * *

><p>Castiel woke up around dinner time. He found me studying my chart, which I'd made out of several sheets of hotel stationary, taped together on the wall. "Was I out long?"<p>

Looking at him, I said, "About four hours."

He sat up. "That long?" Cas stood and crossed to where I was standing. "What have you made here?"

"A chart. It's what we know about Theresa and her son so far."

"Hm." Castiel read over my chart.

_Paul Callan, born to Theresa Callan and Deadbeat Dad, 1973._

_Theresa dies, early 1978_

_Paul is 5_

_Theresa - Catholic, attends church with Father Calero_

_Calero has the healing rosary_

_Do NOT mention Paul or true cause of illness!_

There were a few other minor details about Theresa written there, things I wanted to remember to make it easier for me to work my way into her life. Of course, it would be a lot more pleasant a task if she actually liked me, and I liked her. At the time, I wasn't thinking at all what would happen once this was over if we had developed real feelings for each other. All I could think about was how spunky and cute she was. "And I can hide it behind the curtain. See?" I had put the chart between two narrow windows; the drapes went across both windows and the wall between them, so they hid my chart nicely.

"Very good. Anything new we learn, we add it to the chart. Now, let me see all the bills in your wallet."

"Oh, you're worried about the year on them, aren't you?"

"Yes..." Castiel took the dollar bills I handed him.

"I already paid with a twenty from 2006. Do you think it will cause a problem? Because I bet they'd believe the bill was misprinted."

"Or they'll think you're a counterfeiter." Waving his hand over each bill, Castiel whispered something in Enochian. When he handed them back to me, they all said Series 1968 on them.

"Well, at least it was just one bill. I can probably con my way out of one misprinted bill," I assured him.

Castiel nodded and gave me a slight smile. "If you have to."

"Yeah. Maybe they didn't notice it." I checked my watch. "It's about dinner time. Maybe I can catch Theresa before she leaves for the night, invite her out to eat."

"Sam, there's something else you need to know about her."

"What?"

"Do you know what an empath is?" he asked.

I knew a little about it. "That's a person who can sense how other people are feeling just by being near them, or by forging a psychic link with them."

"Yes." Although I should have followed his line of thinking, what Cas said next still came as a surprise to me. "Theresa Callan is an empath."

"Oh... okay."

"You must be careful around her, Sam. If you're not, she may sense that you have an ulterior motive. Make yourself believe that you're not acting here, that you really want to spend time with Theresa, or she may never trust you." He noticed that I was smiling down at my feet. "What?"

"Uh... that won't be a problem, because I really do want to spend time with her," I admitted sheepishly. "She's pretty cute."

Cas furrowed his brow. "Tread lightly here, Sam. Her empathy is projective as well."

"Projective?"

"We don't know how strong she is, but we do know that she has some projective ability. It's like being around someone who is in a very good mood, and you start to feel happy too. But a projective empath is much better at it than that. Theresa may be able to affect your emotions quite strongly. In fact, some projective empaths can attack you on a psychic level, forcing emotions on you that you had no intention of feeling."

That was troubling. "Is that something she could do without me knowing?"

"You? No. You would know, because you have latent psychic ability as well. The average person would have no idea, but you... that's part of the reason why you're perfect for this job," Cas explained.

Ah, it seemed the pieces were falling into place. "So she couldn't have made me feel attracted to her without my knowledge."

Castiel shook his head. "No. But Theresa's abilities could enhance your general mood."

Maybe that explained why we'd both become so giddy in each other's presence. Her attraction, my attraction, all reverberating between us like sound off acoustical tile. "I understand."

"Then let's get going."

On my way down to the lobby, I wondered if her being an empath had anything to do with her son becoming so important to the world. I concluded that it probably did. Theresa was special; she produced a special child.

And of course, as I would find out, Paul's father had something to do with that as well.

The hotel had a theme. It was called The Millstone; there were millstones everywhere, in the lobby, out front, all engraved with the name of the hotel. They were sort of like statues, made of tan and white speckled marble. I stood and looked at the one near the front desk, in the middle of a large fountain with plants and flowers around it, and thought how much more attractive the whole scene would be if it wasn't surrounded by a lobby done in those horrible 1970's colors. I mean, avocado green chairs? Burnt orange and brown diamonds painted on the walls in between typical hotel lobby paintings? Who decided on this decorating scheme, demons? They must've possessed a bunch of interior decorators and had a good laugh at our expense once it caught on. Absolutely hideous.

There was a different clerk behind the front desk. I hoped Theresa hadn't left already.

In a decorative window leading into the lounge and bar, I saw a sign that read BUSBOY WANTED. APPLY WITHIN. If I could get that job, it'd be perfect - not only would I have spending money, but I'd be working close to Theresa. Sometimes, we had to put more time into a case than usual. Some cases only took a few days. Others, a few months. I figured this would be one of those cases that could take a while. I mean, if I had been raised in a normal environment, and some guy came out of nowhere and tried to tell me that wearing a rosary would cure my cancer, I'd probably think he was crazy. But if I trusted that man when he said it to me, if I _knew_ that man... I might feel differently about it.

I would apply for the job.

Between trying to figure out what my new birth year was for the application and getting used to the taste of Tab soda, the bartender asked me, "Are you Sam?"

Looking at him with what must've been a bewildered expression, I replied, "Yeah?"

"Ah, I knew it," he laughed. "Theresa was talking about you."

My face must've lit up with recognition, because he grinned widely at me. "Theresa was in here?"

"Yeah. Said she met the tallest guy she'd ever seen today, named Sam. If that's not you, I'm scared to see who else is gonna walk in here."

We both had a good laugh over that one. I'm a Sasquatch; I'm used to it. "Yeah, that's me. Where is she now?"

"Uh, I think she's sitting out by the pool, at Slade's Tiki Hut," he said. "She was feeling kind of bad."

I played dumb. "Is she sick?"

He got a grave look on his face. "Going through chemo. Poor kid's got cancer."

"Ohhh." My face reflected the appropriate amount of shock at hearing something awful that I wasn't supposed to already know. "That's horrible."

"Why don't you go out there and see if you can cheer her up?" The bartender grinned again, like he knew something. "I think she kinda likes you."

I grinned back. "That sounds like a great idea. But first, I gotta finish my application."

I'm ashamed to say I had to count backwards on my fingers. My new birth year should be 1951.

The bartender, whose name turned out to be Bo, furrowed his brow at my application. "You're younger than you look," he said, and put it under the bar. "You just get into town? You put the hotel's address here."

I explained that yes, I had just gotten into town and had no place to live currently but the hotel; that's why I needed the job so bad. Bo nodded at my story.

"I have to talk to the boss first, but we'll call your room once we make a decision, okay? Stay available. She may want you to come in for an interview real soon."

Grateful, I shook his hand. "Thanks, Bo."

"No problem, kid."

On my way out, a bright pinkish-red advertising sign caught my eye. _TaB_, it said. _Where There's TaB, There's Refreshment_. Wow, this crap was popular back then.

Another millstone statue sat atop a large pedestal in the middle of the pool. The sun had gone down, so it was lit up with spotlights, and the lights under the water had come on too. A couple families lounged next to the pool or in the hot tub; some kids were laughing and throwing a beach ball back and forth through the hole in the middle of the millstone. Not all the stones had a hole in the middle, but this one had been designed with one, probably because it framed the hotel nicely behind it.

Theresa was sitting at Slade's Tiki Hut, a little bar next to the pool that had been done up with a Hawaiian motif, complete with that special grass they use for the skirts all over the walls and roof and leis hanging from every corner. She was hunched over on her stool, hands shielding her eyes, some sort of drink in front of her.

She looked miserable.

The man behind the bar, of course, wore a Hawaiian shirt. He was wiping down the bar as I approached, although he seemed to be avoiding Theresa's general area. A little statue of a woman in a Hawaiian skirt sat near the tip jar; she wobbled her hips as I took a seat on the stool two away from Theresa's. "Hey there, you okay?"

She looked over at me from under her hands. Theresa's face lit up considerably. "Hey, you! How'd you find me?"

"Bo said you'd be out here."

She smiled at the man behind the bar. "Does Bo know me or what? Knows I can't resist your special headache remedy."

The man, who just went by his last name, Slade, gave a small smile of acknowledgement. He was a quiet, gruff man, but a good one.

Lowering her arms, Theresa thumped my knee with the back of her hand. "I'm in a little trouble because of that twenty you gave me. My boss thinks it's counterfeit."

Again, I did something I would have to get used to doing: I played dumb. "Counterfeit? Why?"

"Because the year on it is 2006," she laughed.

"2006? That's crazy!"

"I swear on a stack of Bibles, that's what it says! And the Secretary of the Treasury is wrong, and the Treasurer... it's so weird. I feel like such an idiot, I didn't even notice."

"I got it from a gas station. I hope it's not fake. You know, I bet it's some sort of misprint. Here, let me straighten it out. I can give you a new one that I know is good." Getting out my wallet, I pawed through the bills, looking for my new 1968 angel-cloaked twenty.

"Oh, gee, thanks so much, Sam." Laughing, Theresa took the bill. "I'll take this to my boss before I leave."

"Are you okay?" I asked. "When I came up, you looked like you didn't feel well."

"I've got a headache," she replied. "And I'm a little nauseous."

"Um, Bo kinda mentioned that you were going through chemotherapy. I'm really sorry that you're sick."

Theresa seemed almost embarrassed about it. "Yeah, me too," she joked. "Going through radiation also. Can't say it's fun. It's why I'm on half-days right now, and short term disability." Theresa tried to put a positive spin on it. "But I'm going to come back from all this. The doctor says my tumor seems to be shrinking."

"Hey, that's great!" I suddenly wondered if CAT-scans and MRI's had been invented yet. Something told me I shouldn't bring it up just yet, what the doctor was using to monitor her condition. Not until I'd had time to do some research. Some slow, Internet-less research. "When I was a kid, I'd get sick sometimes - you know how childhood can be, always throwing up for some reason, and my brother would go get me 7-Up. Our dad said room temperature 7-Up was great for a nauseous stomach."

She giggled. "Really? I've never tried that."

"He swore by it." I remembered some of those times. Dean was usually the one to take care of me when I was sick, when our dad wasn't around. "Ginger ale is good too." A smile came to my face at another good memory. "A sick kid gets bored really easily, you know, so while Dean was at the store, he'd get me these paper construction books. They were sort of like paper dolls, except they were little miniature buildings or a circus with animals or something. You'd punch them out and match tab A to tab B, and when you were done, you had a little city, or the whole circus with the tent... I loved those things. Entertained me for hours."

I realized Theresa was just looking at me with an amused expression on her face. "That's so sweet," she said. "Dean is your brother?"

"Yeah. He's... not here. He's kinda far away right now."

"I bet you miss 'im."

I nodded. "Yes. But we'll be reunited eventually."

Now she nodded. "I've seen those paper construction books in the dime store. They're great for little kids."

It made me wonder if Paul liked them too. I'd have to get him some, for when he came home, I thought.

"Well, I better go before it gets too late."

"Be careful, Theresa," Slade said. "A guest got mugged a couple blocks from here the other night."

"Really? Oh... I don't like the sound of that."

Jumping up from my stool, I offered her my arm. "I'll walk you home," I said.

Theresa grinned at me. "Okay." She wrapped her arm in mine. "A mugger would have to be insane to try anything with you."

We both laughed over that. It gave me a happy little tingle, to know she had noticed how big I was. It seemed to make her feel safe with me.

Turns out Theresa lived about five blocks from the hotel. Not a bad walk, but she usually took the bus on days when she was "feeling lazy." On our way there, we talked some more, first about music. Theresa said she loved The Eagles.

"They show a lot of promise," she remarked.

It seemed like a strange thing to say for a band that had been around for, what, six years at that time? But maybe she had just discovered them. "My brother likes The Eagles. Especially with Joe Walsh."

"Joe Walsh?" she questioned. I could see her face in the light of a streetlamp we passed, and she looked bewildered. "The guitarist for The James Gang?"

When had Joe Walsh joined The Eagles, anyway? Had I just made a time blunder? I tried to shrug it off. "I guess I was thinking of someone else."

We walked on. Theresa talked about her love for Led Zeppelin and the Rolling Stones, her two favorite bands ever. Oh, would she and Dean ever get along musically.

As we neared her building, I asked, "Does anyone ever call you Terry?"

"Ah... my mom did. But it kind of makes me uncomfortable now."

"Oh." I wanted to ask her where her parents were, but it seemed too soon in our friendship. Obviously, they weren't around at some point, or they would have taken Paul in when Theresa died. "Is it okay if I come up with a nickname for you?"

She looked at me, a little confused. "If you want to, I suppose... but what other nickname is there for Theresa besides Terry?"

I just grinned. I already had one. "Once, on this TV show called 'Unsolved Mysteries,' they had a story on there about a guy who was married to a woman named Theresa. He called her Tress. I always thought it was really pretty." When I glanced down at her, I noticed she was looking up at me, smiling. Then I realized that at some point, she had taken my hand. We were holding hands. "Can I call you that?" I asked.

Her smile widened; she really seemed to like the sound of it. "Tress. That _is_ pretty. Sure. Sure, you can call me that."

We just looked at each other for a moment, walking slowly to draw out our time together. At least, that's what I was doing.

Then she asked me another one of those questions that made me want to smack myself in the forehead. "I've never heard of 'Unsolved Mysteries.' Is it good? What channel does it come on?"

"Oh! Uh..." _It doesn't come on any channel, not until 1987_. "It's pretty boring most of the time. Comes on one of those UHF channels no one watches. Their signal is so weak, I can hardly get it to come in half the time."

"Oh."

Nice save. Of course, it wouldn't last long.

"I'm always having to miss my favorite shows because of work," Tress remarked. "I work mornings most of the time, and all the good soaps come on in the morning."

"Why don't you just tape them?" I asked. _Bonk!_ in the forehead again.

"Tape them?"

Crap. Had video cassette recorders been invented yet? I thought they had, but maybe she couldn't afford one. Better not to take the chance that I was making another time faux pas. "Um, yeah... with a tape recorder?"

"Well... I guess I could, but it's just not the same without the pictures."

_Phew_. I was going to have to get better at remembering what year it was.

When we got to the front of her building, I think she was about to say good-bye, but there was a guy standing on the front steps who wouldn't stop staring at us. It seemed to spook her. I wondered if he was one of the demons. "Do you want to come up for a minute?" Tress asked me.

"Sure." Walking her past the man, I gave him a squinty-eyed look.

Her apartment was small and cute, a tidy one-bedroom with crucifixes on the wall. Everywhere I looked, there was a little statue of an angel or Jesus or the Virgin Mary; they didn't overwhelm the space, but there were a lot of them, watching over her place. Dean and I had never been super religious - Dad didn't take us to church regularly - but I did still believe in God and I did still pray every day, no matter what had happened. Dad had definitely taught us the value of a good religious artifact in the fight against evil. Tress was clearly Catholic, but not to the point of... this is going to make me sound like an asshole. She was clearly Catholic, but not to the point of being no fun. Sorry if that's offensive. It's just, some people can be so religious that they let it take all the joy out of their lives. No music, no dancing, no sex, no merry-making, everything's evil. Tress wasn't like that. She wasn't much of a drinker, but...

Anyway, I'm getting ahead of myself.

I noticed a small box of children's toys in the corner. It was the only evidence that she had a child at all. It made me feel bad for her, that Paul was far from home, and how it must make her feel to look at those unused toys. There wasn't a single photograph of Paul to be seen; I surmised that it must hurt to look at them right now. The only picture I saw was a black and white one on an end table, a mom and dad with their little daughter.

"You have a cute place here," I said, smiling at her.

Tress put down her purse. "My first home. The Millstone is my second." Suddenly, she cringed and put a hand to her temple.

That was the first time I felt her projective empathy. There was a twinge of pain in my head, but I could clearly tell it wasn't mine. It felt hollow, like an echo off a vast mountain chain. Didn't even really hurt me - it was sort of like a message reverberating through my head, telling me Tress was hurting. "Are you okay?" I asked, putting a hand on her arm to steady her.

Then the pain was gone.

Tress shook it off. "Yeah, I'm alright. My pain medication is wearing off. Time for another dose."

"I should probably go, let you get some rest."

"Yeah. Thanks for walking me home." She looked up at me, and a smirk crossed her lips. I loved that naughty little look every time she gave it to me. "I'm not working tomorrow. Just gonna come to The Millstone and sit out by the pool for a while. You should join me."

The pool? I would have to get a bathing suit. It wasn't like Castiel told me to bring one. "Sounds like a lot of fun." Hey, it was like mid-summer outside; why not? "Will you be there around lunchtime?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, we can have lunch at Slade's. The menu on the wall said he has Hawaiian Burgers there. I'd like to know what a Hawaiian Burger tastes like."

Tress laughed. "You're gonna love it." For a second, we just stared at each other, and it was one of those moments where I knew she wanted me to kiss her. Women get a certain look in their eyes. When I leaned over and moved my mouth toward hers, she leaned in too, and our lips came together in a sweet little kiss. I'll never forget that first touch of her lips to mine. The chasteness of it went right to my heart.

"I'll see you tomorrow," I said, and she let me out. We were both grinning like idiots.

Castiel was there when I got back to the room. "What happened?" he asked.

Lying on the bed, I folded my arms under my head and just smiled up at the ceiling. "We've got a lunch date for tomorrow."

"You and Theresa?"

"No, you and me, silly. Yes, me and Theresa."

"Good." Castiel had his coats on again. "Try to get yourself invited to church soon."

"I will." With a contented sigh, I started babbling. "I've got to go get a bathing suit in the morning. She wants to laze around by the pool. I wonder what she looks like in a bathing suit. Hmmmm. I feel bad that she can't have her child with her right now - there wasn't a single picture of Paul anywhere in the - "

I finally realized that Castiel was gone.

Oh well. Before getting ready for bed, I just laid there a while longer and daydreamed of how nice our date was going to be. Just me and Tress, getting to know each other better. How often was a case that enjoyable?


	3. Chapter 3: Paper Tiger

Chapter 3: Paper Tiger

Words: 3,740

The next morning, I went to a clothing store and bought a bathing suit and a nice pair of pants for my job interview, then swung by the library to look up a few things about diagnosing brain tumors. All of their books were woefully out of date - not a single one was published after 1970. This researching without the Internet thing was for the birds.

When I got back to the room, I saw that Castiel had returned. He was lying down again. My bag sat on the foot of the bed. "You should have just given me time to get it before we came here in the first place," I scolded. "Then you wouldn't of had to go back."

He just grunted in reply.

"By the way, who are you working for? You rebelled, and the other angels want the Apocalypse to happen. Who told you about Paul Callan being this great key to saving the world?"

"Not all angels want the Apocalypse to take place," he mumbled. "Joshua contacted me."

"So... God may be getting involved again?"

"It's possible. But Joshua would not extend to me that information."

I had to take a little time to mull that over. "Is Paul also descended from Biblical folk?"

"Yes."

"Why is he so important, Cas?"

Castiel did not answer me.

"Cas?"

His eyes were closed, and he seemed to be asleep.

While changing my clothes, I wondered if it was really fair to save Paul's mother simply so he would say yes to whomever his possessing angel was when the time came. But then I remembered how wonderful it would be for him to be able to grow up with his mom in relative safety, and I didn't doubt that it was the right thing to do. For Paul to be so important, he must be the vessel of a very powerful angel, and maybe that angel would also be a merciful one. Even the archangel Michael had promised that he would leave Dean in the same condition in which he found him. Perhaps the one that would possess Paul could do the same thing.

I certainly didn't have any conflicted feelings over saving Tress. Whatever happened after that would be left up to chance.

Looking at myself in the mirror, I brushed my hair, wondering what kind of guys Tress liked. She hadn't seen me without a shirt yet. In the past, people had remarked that sometimes you couldn't tell how muscular I was from the front, in clothes. But now, in only a bathing suit, my bulk would be laid out for all to see. I hoped she would like it.

Tress was already there, sitting on one of the stools at Slade's bar, turned backward toward the pool and her elbows resting on the counter behind her, legs crossed. She looked incredible in a blue one-piece with yellow flowers on it. The leg she had on top bobbled playfully, a flip-flop dangling from her toes. As she was wearing the wig again, I wondered if Tress would be able to go into the pool.

"Hey you," I said as I approached.

She hadn't noticed me coming up. When Tress looked at me, I saw her eyes widen and got my second taste of her projective empathy. A wave of desire passed over her, echoing in my head. It made me smile.

"Well, hellooo~ooo Sam," Tress said. Her eyes passed up and down my chest. "You, you're... I had no idea you were this buff," she added, eyes still wide. Then they narrowed in uncertainty. "Why do you have a pentagram on your chest?"

"This?" I indicated the tattoo. "It's a ward against possession by evil spirits."

"A pentagram?"

"Yeah, see..." As I explained, I ran my finger over the lines of the tattoo. "The star point is up, which makes it a positive symbol."

"Oh..." Tress tilted her head one way and then the other. "Not if you look at it this way."

"Trust me, it's supposed to be pointing up." I leaned in the same direction her head was going. "See?"

She chuckled at me. "If you say so."

Moving a little closer to her, I ran my finger under the chain of the silver crucifix around her neck. "It's not that different from how Satanists invert crosses to make them symbols of evil. They do the same with pentagrams." There's a lot more to it than that, but we hadn't known each other long enough to get into some sort of long philosophical discussion about religion.

"Oh. Still, you don't think a lot of people are going to stare at you with that thing out? Although they..." Tress ran a hand through the light smattering of hair on my chest. "...they might be too distracted by the..." Her eyes caressed the defined muscles of my stomach. "Um... hoo..."

The sexual desire coming off of her hit me hard enough to send a tingle up my back. "I'm used to people staring at me," I said quietly. "You have noticed that I'm 6'5"?"

"Uh, yeah... I had noticed that." Tress just stared at me for a moment, running an errant finger along the lines of my chest.

Teasing her, I said, "Tress, my eyes are up here."

She looked up sharply, caught, and began to giggle with embarrassment. "I'm sorry, Sam. I'm just not used to seeing many guys around here who work out as much as you."

I just grinned at her. "You've got a few nice curves yourself."

Over her shoulder, I noticed Slade making a face of discomfort. The phrase 'Get a room' hadn't been coined yet, so instead he said, "You guys know I'm here, right?"

We both began to laugh. "Sorry, Slade. But even you can see how cut this guy is," she said.

"I've got eyes," he replied in a gruff, annoyed tone.

I had to smile again. He's a funny old guy.

Changing the subject, Tress went into a canvas bag beside her and pulled out a thin cardboard book. "Got you something," she said with a grin, and turned it around.

It was one of those paper construction books I had been talking about the night before. A cardboard zoo. I began to laugh. "Oh, thank you. You're a mess, you know that?"

"I saw it in the store and couldn't resist." She laughed too. When I took the book and started to flip through it, Tress giggled, "You are actually going to take that thing up to your room and put it together, aren't you?"

"I don't know... I just might."

She gave me a playful shove. "Now who's the mess?"

We left our towels and other things in front of Slade's and prepared to go in the pool. "I have to make sure I don't go under the water," Tress cautioned. "This will..." She pointed to her head. "I'm not sure it'll, um, stay on if I..."

I leaned in and whispered close to her ear, "It's okay, I know it's a wig."

Her face turned crimson with an embarrassed blush.

In response, I added, "It's okay. Nothing to be embarrassed about," and gave her sides a little tickle.

Tress couldn't help but giggle at the touch. "Is it really that obvious?"

"No, but, you're going through chemo and radiation, so... I just kind of knew."

Self-consciously, she touched her head, running her fingers through the wig. "My real hair was just like this."

I saw tears come to her eyes, ones she held back. I could only imagine how hard it must be for a woman to lose a full head of beautiful hair. "It must've been gorgeous, then."

That made her smile at me with a little sniffle.

Although I knew it was a cliché thing to say, I couldn't help assuring her, "It'll grow back."

"I know."

I didn't want to make her cry. In an effort to distract Tress from the depressing subject we'd gotten on, I held up a bottle of sunblock. "Will you put some on my back?"

That hungry, aroused look came to her eyes again. "Certainly."

It was obvious we were both extremely attracted to each other. Not only did it make getting my task completed easier for me, but it was plenty nice, too!

I took the opportunity to put some sunblock on her back as well before we got into the pool. While doing that, I also massaged some into her shoulders and the back of her neck. Tress simply moved her hair out of the way and allowed me to do it, enjoying it tremendously. I know that not only from the relaxed little moans she was letting out, but from her empathy, which washed over me in waves every few seconds. We both must've looked like we were totally high. Once we got in the pool, Tress stayed close to the side where she didn't have to worry so much about being splashed or her head getting dunked underwater. We watched kids playing, racing each other from one end of the pool to the other, and I had to resist the urge to ask her about Paul. It probably would just make her cry anyway, I thought. But it did somehow get me on the subject of what had happened to her parents.

"Oh, my dad passed away a couple years ago," Tress said. The sadness in her eyes touched me. "A lot of messed up things happened around the time of his death, and because of that, my mom and I don't really talk much anymore. I try to be a good Christian and forgive, but... it's hard to forgive someone who isn't sorry."

Paddling closer to her, I put a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Tress."

"It's okay. I have my family here now." She indicated Slade and the other employees. "And my church family. My mom lives on the other side of the state, so we don't attend the same one."

Church. She brought up church. It was a perfect opportunity. "I really want to meet some more local people. Can I go to church with you this Sunday?"

That seemed to make Tress happier than anything else I'd said that day. "I'd love it if you'd come. You can meet Father Beresford and Father Calero, and everyone in the choir..."

Father Calero. He was the main person I wanted to meet.

"What about your parents?" she asked me then.

I answered her question by not lying, but not telling the whole truth either. "My mom was killed in a house fire when I was still a baby. And my dad passed away about four years ago. His heart just... stopped beating."

"Oh, I'm really sorry, Sam. Both of your parents, gone... that must be tough."

"Sometimes. But still having Dean makes it easier."

"Is it money that's keeping your brother from coming here?"

Now this one, I had to lie. The truth just wasn't an option. "Yeah. That's why I really hope I get this job at the hotel bar."

"The busboy job?" Tress said. "I hope you get it; then we could see each other almost every day."

"Yeah, that'd be wonderful," I replied.

"It would?"

The coy, hopeful little look on her face when she said that... I couldn't resist moving in close to her, my hands holding onto the pool edge on either side of Tress's head. She gave me that same look she had given me in her apartment the night before, the one that said she wanted me to kiss her. "Yeah, it would," I said, and kissed her on the lips.

It was a much longer, more passionate kiss this time. The aroused, contented feelings coming off her put me in a state of weightlessness; I couldn't have told you how long we actually kissed. A few seconds? A year?

The mood was broken when the kids started hooting at us. "Oooooooh!" they crooned. "Gettin' hot 'n' heavy with the hot 'n' heavy!" *

"Kids, leave them alone," a woman snapped.

Tress and I both laughed to ourselves, just floating and looking at each other. "I know we just met and everything, but I'm really attracted to you, Sam," she said, and leaned forward to give me a peck on the mouth.

My grin must've been a mile wide. "I like you too, Tress. A lot."

We didn't say anything for a few moments, content to just look. She began tracing her finger over the lines of my tattoo. "So, what do you know about evil spirits?" Tress asked.

Immediately, I thought this line of questioning was about the demons surrounding her. Did she want to talk about it? The best thing I thought I could do would be to approach the subject as casually as possible. "After my mom died, my father became obsessed with the idea that the fire had been caused by an evil spirit. He did all kinds of research on it for years and, you know, you just pick a few things up."

Her eyes looked sad in reaction to that; I'm not sure if it was because she felt sorry for me, talking about my mother's death again, or if it was her own troubles that disturbed her. "Do you believe in stuff like that?"

"To an extent," I replied. It was far too early in our relationship to tell her the whole truth.

"I was raised Catholic, and after all I've read in the Bible, and experienced, and felt..." Tress looked at me seriously. "...I believe in some of it. Angels, and demons... I think they really do exist. Is that crazy?"

"No, not at all." Oh, she had no clue how much I believed in angels and demons...

When she just smiled at me a little, I added, "If you ever want to talk more about this subject, I'm totally open, okay? You should talk to my friend Cas first, though. He's very... knowledgeable."

"Is that the guy in the trench coat?"

"Yeah." I cobbled together a full name for him. "Cas Novak. He's the one who convinced me to come here." Wow, it was amazing how much I could tell her without really lying!

"Well, I'm glad he did," Tress said, and leaned in for another knee-melting kiss.

Yeah, we did really like each other. A whole lot.

After tossing a beach ball around, we got out and wrapped up in towels to have lunch at Slade's. It was very good, and gave us more opportunity to joke and laugh and hold hands on the countertop while we shared an ice cream sundae. I'd say it was a perfect afternoon.

"Can I see you again tonight?" I asked. I just wanted the day to go on forever.

"No, I'm sorry, but I'm babysitting Michelle's kids after six." Tress gestured to the hotel. "She's one of the other front desk clerks."

"Oh, okay."

She instantly added, "But you can come over if you want to. Help me wrangle them for a couple hours. There's two of them."

Another one of those satisfied grins beamed across my face. "I'd love to."

We parted ways shortly after. Tress's parting comment as she walked away with her bag flung over her shoulder was, "Enjoy your zoo!"

I just laughed at her. That naughty little grin would be the death of me.

Again, Castiel was there when I got back to the room. "A man left a message for you," he said, and pointed to the blinking light on the phone.

"Oh, thanks." It was a message from Bo. His boss wanted me to come in for an interview the next morning at nine. After calling him back to confirm, I set the phone in its cradle and sat there grinning. "Everything's falling into place."

"Did you get invited to church?" Castiel asked.

"Sure did. And I'm going over there tonight, just to hang out." For a second, I thought Cas might scold me for seeing her so much, being that this was supposed to be just a rescue mission, but he said nothing. "Cas, today she asked me if I believe in supernatural stuff, like demons. I think she wants to talk about what's happening to her."

Cas gave me one of his serious looks in return. "No, Sam. You must not talk about those things with her. Alright? It's very dangerous."

"I know, but..."

"I acknowledge that you may want to talk with her about the demons because it might ease her mind." He stood right in front of me now, that same intense expression on his face. "But you must discourage such conversation. Do you understand how dangerous it would be, Sam?"

Sheepishly, I nodded my head. "Yeah..."

"Why did she bring it up anyway?"

"Tress saw my tattoo." As I was still dressed in a bathing suit and a towel, I indicated the symbol on my chest.

"Tress?"

Sheepishly, I explained, "That's my nickname for her."

Again, I thought he would scold me for getting too close to her. Castiel just looked down at me and said, "Oh," and then went back to the window, to gaze out at the birds flying by.

* * *

><p>I brought my cardboard zoo to Tress's place that night.<p>

Michelle's kids loved helping me put it together. Tress sat cross-legged in our little circle and taped down the occasional tab, but mostly just watched me and the kids with a grin on her face. She seemed a little tired.

The children played with Paul's toys. That surprised me until I really considered it. I thought maybe it would be too painful for her to watch other kids play with her little boy's things, but then it occurred to me that it might be a way for her to pretend that Paul was still there, to live vicariously through taking care of other people's children. It made me want to hold her worse than anything, to know what pain she must be in.

Michelle picked the kids up a little after nine. It didn't take long at all for us to realize we were completely alone.

Tress sat next to me on the couch. I noticed that she had one of the little cardboard animals in her hand. "You were so cute when you were building that zoo with the kids," she said. The paper zoo still sat on the floor, spread out over a small area in front of the television. Tress held up the cardboard animal. "This one's a tiger. It's my favorite." She playfully made it bound up my arm. "Rrrraaarr!"

Snickering, I grabbed her by the waist and started to tickle her sides without mercy. Tress giggled, pretending she wanted me to stop by struggling lightly, but it was really more play-wrestling. Within seconds, she had wound up on my lap, straddling me, with one hand inside the neck of my shirt. One look and we were kissing with more passion than ever, Tress letting out a squeal of arousal.

I've never felt anything like heavy petting on empathy. Her lust, my lust, all of it reverberating from her head to mine and back again - very intense. If Tress had let me, I would have gladly made love to her for hours. It was no secret that I desperately wanted her and she wanted me.

Her moving hand caused two of the buttons on my shirt to pop open, and then she was reaching inside, rubbing my upper chest. I took this as a flimsy form of permission to run my hand over one of her breasts, teasing what responded. Tress moaned into my mouth. Everything moved very fast after that. While still kissing, I laid her down on the couch on her back and partially unbuttoned her shirt. My fingers found a bra strap and pulled it down, and I dipped my head down, kissing her breast. Sucking until she moaned again.

This was when she pushed me away. "Wait, Sam, wait," Tress panted.

Immediately I took my weight off of her, bracing myself on the back of the couch. "I'm sorry," I said, though I'm not sure what I was apologizing for.

"No, I... I don't mean to tease you or anything. I want to, _really_ want to, but we just met, and..."

"Oh, no, it's okay, it's okay." We were both very worked up, but I sat back against the opposite arm of the couch until she had fixed her shirt, covering herself up again.

Eventually, Tress leaned over and gave me a peck on the lips. "I'm sorry," she said. "Maybe after we've dated for a while..."

"I have no expectations," I replied. And it was true; I would take whatever she would give me until she was ready for us to go to bed together. The idea that Tress would make me wait just turned me on more, made me want her more. Women often have no idea the power that has over a man.

"Thank you for being so understanding. I'm not trying to be rude or anything, but I think you should go before I lose all control and just ravage you right here and now."

I chuckled, rebuttoning my shirt. "Well, it probably is better if I leave then, you sex maniac."

Tress smacked my arm. The look in her eyes told me she had to make a great effort not to jump on me, like that hungry cardboard tiger she'd been teasing me with. I gathered my things and went to the door.

We parted with one last kiss. "See you soon," I said before I turned and left.

Tress was still panting. From the feelings I gleaned off her from her empathy, it had taken a great deal of control for her to send me away.

I was overjoyed to have the hotel room to myself when I got back. After that, I definitely needed some "alone" time.

* _Author's Note: My sister and I used to say this phrase all the time as kids when we saw people kissing on TV ("Gettin' hot 'n' heavy with the hot 'n' heavy."). I really can't remember if it's something we made up or got from a TV show. For some reason, I keep thinking of Barbarino from "Welcome Back Kotter"... XD_


	4. Chapter 4: The Riddle

Chapter 4: The Riddle

Words: 4,143

I got the busboy job the next morning. They gave me a very nice deal - one dollar less per hour for a free room and free meals in the diner. It would do me well for the time that I'd be there.

Tress and I saw each other in the lobby and I made a beeline for her so I could tell her about getting the job. She ducked her head sheepishly.

"Hey Tress, I got the job!"

Instantly, her head came up. "Oh, Sam, that's wonderful!" We shared a brief hug, which she seemed to pull away from, and again ducked her head.

"What's wrong, Tress?" I asked.

"I, um..." She smiled, obviously embarrassed. "I'm sorry, Sam, I just feel so bad about last night. I shouldn't have let you get that far, I mean..." Tress opened her blazer on one side as if she was flashing me. "I let you do that and then I pushed you away... makes me feel like such a tease."

Shaking my head, I replied, "Stop it. You're not a tease. You're just a sensible woman with self-control."

"Oh, but, you have no idea just how much I wanted to." A sudden grin spread across her face, and she looked away again. Her cheeks flushed pink.

I grinned too. "Honey, we both want to," I whispered to her. Tress giggled, a hand to her mouth. "But you're right. We should wait."

"Wait for what?" she chuckled.

"Until it feels right."

"Somehow, I'll know?" Her arms slipped around my neck.

"Yeah. And so will I," I said, being coy.

Giving my shoulder a light smack, Tress asked, "Are you saying that it's not all up to me?"

I raised my chin in mock indignation. "A man in this day and age has to make the right choice on when to start having sex. He can't just jump into it."

As I said, 'when to start having sex,' she began to giggle, looking around, and shushed me. "Someone will hear you!"

"Oh come on, like they can't tell I'm crazy about you," I replied, picking her up in my arms. We both laughed into a kiss.

Yes, we were nauseatingly cute.

But it was true, that there was an instant attraction. Whether it be natural chemistry spurred on by an empathy overload or just horniness, we were both in those beginning stages of a relationship where we didn't want to keep our hands to ourselves.

The best thing was, Tress had her last treatment the Friday after we met. She was supposed to go back in a couple weeks to have another test to see if the tumor had reacted to this latest round of chemo and radiation, and it made us both very hopeful. Late in the afternoon, I found Tress sitting in the bar, yawning and taking little bites of some plain crackers.

"Why don't you go home and go to bed, woman?" I asked her.

"That's a good idea," she said, and left me with a little kiss on the mouth.

Part of my job consisted of collecting the dirty glasses from around the pool and bringing them back to the bar where they could be washed. If they belonged to Slade, I brought them back to him after they were cleaned (his glasses had a different logo on them, so it wasn't at all hard to tell which ones were his). That night, I had a very enlightening encounter with a couple of the hotel guests.

A blonde woman in a white one-piece bathing suit lay on one of the lounging chairs next to the pool, her arm draped across her forehead. She was wearing a pair of sunglasses. Even though I couldn't see her eyes, I could tell that she was tired just from her body language. Her son, who looked about ten years old, sat at Slade's counter eating his dinner and working on puzzles out of a children's book of riddles and crosswords. While collecting dirty glasses from Slade, I caught a glimpse of the boy's face as he looked up at me and I had to look back and stare. It wasn't often that I saw eyes that shade of blue.

"Uh, hi," I said. "What have you got there?"

"A book of riddles and such," the boy replied. He had a thick European accent that didn't sound like it came from England, but somewhere in Great Britain. Could it be...?

"Oh, I like riddles. You have a very interesting accent; where are you from?"

"Scotland," he said. "My family and I are here because my father is attending a physician's conference. We came with him this time for a family vacation. I really like Boston - I may come back here someday." I was already beginning to suspect what he said next. "My name is Alva Keel. What's your name?"

"Sam. Is that your mom?" I gestured toward the blonde on the lounging chair.

"Yes. Do you think you may have the answer to this riddle? It's been giving me trouble."

"I might. What is it?" Putting my tub of glasses on the counter, I leaned on one of the stools and listened as Alva read out of the book.

"What can you see with the naked eye, weighs nothing, and if you put it in a barrel, the barrel will get lighter?"

I thought I'd heard that one before, but the answer escaped me at that moment. "Hmmm... that's a good one..."

"Maybe it's fire," he said. "A fire would reduce a barrel to ash. But... fire involves combustion of gases, and they have mass. I don't think that's it."

Even as a child, Alva Keel was a smart little guy. I joked, "I bet it's light. Make the barrel 'lighter,' ha, ha."

He gave it serious thought. "That's funny, but it can't be right. Light consists of energy, and we know from physics that anything with energy also has mass."

With a little laugh, I agreed with him. He was such a serious child. "No, it can't be light."

In the waning summer evening sun, I watched his eyes as the excitement of discovering the answer came into them. "A hole! It's a hole!"

I nodded. "You can see it with the naked eye, it doesn't weigh anything, and if you put it in a barrel..." Miming the liquid contents of a barrel pouring out on the floor, I imitated what it would sound like ("Gluck, gluck, gluck, gluck"), and we both laughed.

"Here's another one. I've already figured it out." Alva read from the book. "Homeless people have it. Rich people don't have it. And if you eat it, you'll die."

I thought about that one so long that Alva asked me, "Do you give up?"

"No... not yet."

Although I worked my way through several possible answers, after a minute, I had to give in. "I don't know. What is it?"

"Nothing," he said with a grin.

"Nothing?" I considered that. Oh, yeah... _nothing_. "You really stumped me with that one."

"It's kind of a sad riddle. Homeless people with nothing and all."

"Yeah." At times, I forgot I was speaking to a child. But at that moment, with him swinging his legs like a typical little boy, I remembered. "So, what do you want to be when you grow up?"

He had an immediate answer; in fact, he had several of them. "A surgeon, a linguist, a college professor, and a priest."

"Wow, that's a lot! How are you going to do all those things?"

"I'm very smart. My mother always says so."

"I can see that." I couldn't even tell you why it occurred to me, but I thought that this little boy certainly was intelligent, maybe even intelligent enough to help me figure out my own riddles. "You know, Alva, I have a dilemma, and you're so smart that I wonder if you wouldn't be able to offer a helpful opinion."

"What is it?"

"It's sort of a riddle, but not exactly. What if you knew someone who was in a bad situation, and you had information that might help them, actually make their life better, but telling them that information could also put them in danger?"

Alva thought about it. "How is it going to make their life better if the information could put them in danger?"

Slade was eyeing us like what we were discussing sounded odd to him. And it did. But it was a hard subject to talk about without coming out and saying what was really going on with Tress. It would seem extra crazy, crazier than it already sounded. "That's a hard question to answer. What if... just talking about a person's situation could put them in danger, because the wrong people might hear, but you might be able to make their situation better if you told them what you know?"

"Oh. Hmmmm..." Again, Alva gave my problem some thought. "Who are these wrong people?"

"Just some people who might be listening in."

"How do you know they're listening in?"

"Well..." Because an angel told me. Yeah, that'd go over well. "A friend of mine who's very knowledgeable about these matters told me about them."

"Are you a spy?" he asked.

I had to laugh. "No, just a busboy."

"You have some very interesting friends for a busboy." I almost responded, but I could see his mind working again, and I didn't want to disturb the process. "So, your friend told you not to talk about what was happening to someone else because the wrong people might hear."

"Right."

"But you have information that might help that person, if only you could tell them."

"Exactly," I said.

Alva considered that, and then said, "I'd say your knowledgeable friend doesn't want this other person to know the things you know."

That hit me like a ton of bricks. Could it be that Castiel didn't want Tress to know she didn't really have cancer? But that made zero sense. "Why do you say that?"

"Because he's got you ducking phantom wrong people that you're not even sure are really there."

"I don't doubt that they're there..."

"Don't you?" Alva said.

I had to think about it. No, I believed that the demons were really around us. Tress wouldn't have sent Paul away if she didn't feel something evil surrounding her, something real. "No, I believe the wrong people are actually there."

"Then what do you doubt?"

I had an instant answer to that question. "I am doubting that it wouldn't be in this person's best interest to tell them the things I know."

"What does your knowledgeable friend say to that?" Alva asked.

"He just keeps repeating that it would be too dangerous to tell this person the truth."

Alva was very observant. He replied, "Your knowledgeable friend wants that information to stay hidden for nefarious reasons."

Nefarious. That was a big word for a child. A menacing word. "No... no, my friend isn't a bad person."

"Maybe not, but he's using manipulative tactics to keep you quiet."

_Manipulative tactics_... it was surreal to hear such words come out of the mouth of a kid. "You think so?"

"Yes. How does he react when you question him?"

It struck me how serious Alva looked when he asked that, like he was chasing one of his paranormal cases. Even as a child, I would have trusted him with the fate of the world. "He doesn't seem to want me to talk about it very much."

"Hm." The kid was obviously suspicious of Castiel's motives. "Someone doesn't want you to ask too many questions."

Wow, where did that come from? But it wasn't like the angels hadn't lied to and manipulated Dean and I in the past. After all we had been through with Cas, I didn't want to believe that he would lie to me, especially where an innocent person like Tress was involved. "Maybe," I finally said.

"Stay alert," Alva cautioned. "I don't think those spies even exist."

I wanted to correct him that again, we weren't talking about spies but I thought in a way, the demons were like spies, because they were watching Tress. "I'll be on the lookout."

Slade suddenly spoke up. "Sam, what are you talking about anyway?"

It never occurred to me that Slade could be possessed, that he could be one of them, and I was lucky that he wasn't. He was just one of those people I instantly trusted, because he was so genuine. I still couldn't tell him the truth, though. "It's a game, Slade. Like one of those mystery weekends hosted by The Millstone," I laughed. "Couldn't you tell?"

"Oh!" He laughed too. "Sure sounded like a bunch of mystery book hooey. But I guess it keeps the kids entertained."

"Are you sure it was just a game?" Alva questioned. He wasn't fooled.

Good time to change the subject. "I told you it was like a riddle. How's your mom feeling?"

He looked over at her. "Mummy has a headache."

"Can I get her anything?"

What Alva said was too adult for even him. "A martini would help."

Slade and I both chuckled; we couldn't help it. "I think we can get her one of those on the house," Slade said, and made her up one. The harder drinks, I had to retrieve from the bar, but martinis were something for which he had the ingredients in his little tiki hut.

Once it was shaken and stirred, I brought the martini to Mrs. Keel and placed it on the metal table next to her chair. "Here you are, ma'am. On the house," I said, and went back to the counter of Slade's to get my things.

She had hardly looked at me when I brought her the drink, except that her eyebrows went up behind the sunglasses. When I turned around, she was up and bringing the martini back to me.

"Take back your drink, sir," Mrs. Keel said. She placed the martini on the counter. "I'm a married woman."

How embarrassing. "Oh, I'm sorry, ma'am, please don't get the wrong idea - "

She simply cut me off with, "You cad," and took Alva's hand. "Let's go back up to the room, pet. Play some games with Mummy."

"Okay." Alva actually shrugged at me before hopping down off the stool with his book in hand. They walked off together, hand in hand.

Once they were out of earshot, Slade broke down laughing. "Sorry, kid. I didn't think she would refuse a good martini."

I threw my bar rag at him.

* * *

><p>That billboard I'd seen when Castiel and I first came here kept troubling me. Turned out it was right across the street from Tress's building, and if you went up to the top of the hotel, you could see it from there. That night, I went up to the roof observation deck and looked out over that billboard, studying it. A few others were up there, looking at the stars through roof-mounted telescopes.<p>

"Mummy, I can see Jupiter!" a boy said.

I looked and saw that it was Mrs. Keel and her son standing at one of the telescopes. She stared at me for a moment, and as she wasn't wearing the sunglasses anymore, I could see how sad her eyes were. Sometime in the next ten or so years, that woman would die. It weighed on me, knowing such things and not being able to tell anyone.

I put my attention back on the billboard. _Coming December 1978, National Lampoon's Animal House_. Something about that bothered me. Why did it bother me?

When I got back to the room, Castiel was there, staring out the window. I could see his face reflected in the glass; he didn't look happy. Something was bothering him too.

"Hey, you want to talk about it?" I asked.

Cas turned to face me. "Talk about what?"

He wasn't telling me everything. That, I knew. "Nothing."

It's remarkable, how the words of a child could put so much doubt in me.

* * *

><p>Getting the rosary turned out to be a lot easier than I assumed it would be.<p>

Tress and I attended the 11AM service at her church, St. Jerome's Catholic Church of Boston, that Sunday. The sermon was delivered by Father Beresford, and was all about still having modesty in this modern age. Father Calero delivered the sermon sometimes, Tress explained, but he was just an underling. Most Sundays, it was Father Beresford.

Once the sermon was over, Tress introduced me to everyone. The members of the choir were quite amused with my height; that's something I had to get used to a long time ago. Tress called me her "very good friend." I wouldn't have minded working up from there at all.

Father Calero looked to be in his thirties, with a polite smile and warm eyes. "I'm happy to see Theresa has a good friend to lean on. We've been worried about her, as ill as she's been and alone so much of the time."

"Oh, Father... I can take care of myself," Tress replied, embarrassed.

He took her hand in both of his. "You shouldn't have to, dear. Especially when you're ill."

She kissed his cheek fondly.

I felt I could trust this man. After all, he was the one who arranged for Paul's protection from the demons. When Tress became involved in a conversation with another parishioner, I followed Calero to his office and asked him if we could have a private conversation.

"Like you, I'm very worried about her," I told him. "She's supposed to go for another test in a couple of weeks to see if her tumor has responded to the treatment, and I know we all want that to happen for her."

"Of course. Is there something I can do?"

I had already spotted the rosary hanging on the wall, inside a glass case with a black velvet backing. Indicating it, I asked, "What's the story behind that rosary?"

He seemed surprised. "Oh, it was owned by a nun who helped found this church. Sister Carol. She lived to be 92 and had it up until her death from natural causes."

I had to approach this gently and with caution. "One of the other church members told me there's a story behind it, something about miracles?"

"Oh, yes." Father Calero's eyes lit up. He enjoyed telling this story. "Sister Carol had a reputation for bringing about miracles with her simple little rosary. She would take it to the hospital and pray over sick parishioners, saying various prayers over the beads, and those people would always have a miraculous recovery. In the last thirty years of her life, she prayed over nearly one hundred people, who all made amazing strides in overcoming their illnesses within only a few months. Some were saved from the very jaws of death, or so the story goes.

"I know it sounds like coincidence, but only to people who weren't there. Father Beresford and I knew her the last five years of her life, and we saw some miraculous things in only that short span of time. I once saw a crippled child walk several steps only minutes after she finished the rosary for him. That child had a spinal deformity, and they found a miracle cure for his back within two months of the incident. I've never seen anything like it before."

"So you believe the rosary has power?"

Father Calero sat behind his desk. "If that's the way you want to put it. I think it was Sister Carol's belief, and the old fashioned power of prayer. The rosary is a way to focus your belief as you speak straight to God. It was His will that the prayers should be answered."

"It's a powerful symbol of faith," I added.

"Yes."

"Do you think it could perform a miracle for Tress?"

Blinking at me, he said, "Tress?"

"Theresa. I've started calling her Tress."

"Oh." For some reason, Father Calero seemed a little shaken by that. He paused so long that I started to get uncomfortable. When he spoke again, he said, "We've actually wondered that ourselves, to be honest with you. Since Sister Carol's death, the rosary has been displayed in that case, but it seems wrong for it not to be out there, performing more miracles. If there was someone to pray over it, perhaps the rosary would help cure Theresa's cancer."

"This is a crucial time for her, about to take an important medical test." Pointing to the rosary, I asked, "Could we borrow it?"

Father Calero gave it some thought. "If you'll be extremely careful with it. We all certainly would love to see Theresa become well." He took a key out of his desk and unlocked the case. "Do you know how to say the rosary?"

"That and several other appropriate prayers." My dad had taught them to me. Prayer, another tool in the fight against evil. "I thank you so much for this, Father."

When he put it in my hand, Father Calero folded my fingers around the rosary, holding on protectively. "Please take good care of it. That rosary means a great deal to all of us here at St. Jerome's."

"I promise, I'll look after it with great care." I held up my hand, squeezing the rosary within it. "We're going to cure her."

His eyes softened; it was something he saw in my face. "You have deep feelings for her, don't you?"

Looking down, I must've seemed embarrassed, like I'd been caught at something. "I haven't known Tress long, it's the truth, but... yeah, I care a great deal for her. She's a very strong woman, and I want nothing more for her to be cured."

"We want the same thing." With a sigh, Father Calero leaned on his desk. "Too many good people are taken by this insidious disease. Let's not have Theresa be one of them."

I thanked him again, and as I was leaving the office, he said, "Let me know if you need any counsel on this. I'm a priest; I may know a few extra prayers."

That made me laugh a little. "I will."

"Oh, and Sam?"

"Yes?"

He shifted from one foot to the other, his eyes narrowed. "What'd you say your last name was?"

"Winchester."

"Ah." Father Calero nodded once, and cleared his throat. "Like the gun."

"Yeah."

He nodded again. "Hm."

I left then, wondering why he'd reacted so strangely to a couple of the things that I'd said.

Young Alva was making me suspicious of everyone.

That afternoon, Tress and I decided to have a picnic in the little park next to The Millstone. Her idea. She said she felt better than she had in weeks, and wanted to eat a ham sandwich under one of the biggest oak trees, where we'd have tons of shade. "Ham's the best meat, next to tuna," she declared.

As we ate our sandwiches and chips under that tree, I presented the rosary to her, and explained where it had come from.

Tears came to her eyes. "It's so touching, that Father Calero would let us borrow it. This rosary is so important to the church." Tress held it in her hand, lovingly rolling the beads between her fingers.

"He let us borrow it because _you_ are important to the church," I replied, and gave her a kiss on the mouth.

Tress looked down at her lap, humbled. "This could all be over in just a few weeks. I might be cured." I heard her voice crack, and saw two tears roll down her cheeks.

I put my hand over the one in which she held the rosary. "In a few weeks, you _will_ be cured." Taking the rosary from her, I said, "Here, let me put it on you."

"Put it on me? No, Sam, a rosary isn't jewelry."

"But you're right on the edge of remission. You need to wear it so it will always be on your person in these last few crucial weeks. Besides..." I held it up, ready to slide it over her head. "...you can put it under your shirt so no one knows you're wearing it but you, me, and God."

With a laugh, Tress allowed me to put the rosary around her neck. She touched the little crucifix hanging from its end, then crossed herself in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. "Please forgive me if You consider this blasphemous," she added.

I took a napkin and blotted the tears from her face. "Do you want to pray over it now?"

Tress nodded, and we prayed for her recovery under what would become our tree.


	5. Chapter 5: Let Go

Chapter 5: Let Go

Words: 4,792

Less than two weeks away, Tress would undergo another test to find out if the treatments had been successful, and her tumor had gone away. We spent the time working, playing, praying, and petting. I had nothing to complain about. As ticklish as Tress was, I had loads of fun teasing her, especially when we passed each other in the lobby of the hotel. She'd see me coming and would start grinning, and try to get past me on the opposite side of the room. But I'd always catch her, a little squeal already building in her throat. People often turned and stared at the brunette shrieking laughter as a gigantic mop head tickled her without mercy, and I'm sure some of them wondered if they should come save her, but that's the way I liked it.

Every night, I made sure she prayed on that rosary. Tress seemed almost embarrassed to ask God for anything for herself, but once we got going, she prayed the truth - like a woman who desperately wanted to live. And on the nights that we did our vigil in her apartment, we always wound up petting on her couch, like two people who desperately wanted to make love. But Tress would always stop me at some point, even when we'd gone so far that I thought this was the night. I didn't mind so much; the girl drove me crazy. I'd wait for as long as it took.

The Wednesday before her big test came, and we were both off work by five o'clock. Still, I couldn't find her anywhere in the hotel. Bo said he'd seen Tress heading for the pool area, so that's where I went looking for her.

I was stopped momentarily by the sight of little Alva, sitting on one of the lounges, having a conversation with two other boys. What made the conversation so unusual was that one of the boys only spoke French and the other spoke only German. Alva translated between the two so they could all understand each other.

"Est-ce qu'il veut jouer water-polo avec nous?" the first boy asked.

Alva repeated the question to the second boy, only in German. "Wir wollen Wasserball spielen. Willst du mitmachen?"

"Klar!" the kid replied.

"Il a dit soit," Alva said to the first boy.

The three jumped up with beach ball in hand and skipped off toward the pool. The whole thing reminded me of a scene from "I Love Lucy," except in real life, it's far more surreal.

Mrs. Keel was in pretty much the same condition as she always was - in a lounge chair with a tall drink, looking like she was on the verge of a headache with her arm draped dramatically over her forehead. "Stay out of the deep end, Mango," she called to her son.

Although I knew she didn't much care for me, I still approached her to ask, "How many languages does he know, anyway?" in an amazed tone.

Mrs. Keel looked at me over her sunglasses like she was deciding if she would actually lower herself to speak to me. "I've lost count," she said dryly, and returned to her perpetual state of vague suffering. It was a good time to excuse myself.

Slade told me where Theresa was, and he knew because she was very near by - in the park next to The Millstone, up in our tree.

"What's she doing up there?" I asked, more than a little surprised.

Slade shrugged. "The girl likes to climb trees."

I had to laugh. Had she even changed out of her work uniform before getting up there?

Turns out she had. I found her nestled in the crook of two large branches, dressed in casual clothes, peeling and eating an orange.

And she was crying.

The branches creaked under my weight as I climbed up to where she was, so much that Tress stopped what she was doing and grabbed defensively at the branch next to her. "Sam, you're going to dump us both out of this tree," she declared.

Although I wasn't entirely sure she wasn't right, I smiled confidently and said, "Oh, these old oaks are strong. Even strong enough for Sasquatches and their ladies."

That got her laughing, which was better than crying any day. I squeezed myself into the crook of those branches and put Tress on my lap, lying back in my arms, and we cuddled while she finished her orange. "Now, what are you crying about?"

"I'm scared."

"Of your test results?"

"No, of the test." She peeled off a segment of orange and offered it to me, popping it in my mouth. "Not that the possibility of those test results coming back with bad news isn't scary too..."

"Why are you afraid of the test?" In my mind, Tress was just going in for a CAT scan or an MRI; those weren't so bad. I had forgotten it was the 1970's.

"Because it's a PEG," she replied, and added, "I had one before, when I was diagnosed."

"What's that stand for?"

"Pneumoencephalogram."

"A pneumo... cepha... what?"

We said it again, together, much more slowly. Long, tricky word. Almost a tongue twister. But it actually jogged my memory. "Oh, like the test Regan had done in _The Exorcist_."

"I'm not sure what you're talking about," Tress said.

I tried to jog her memory too. "The scene where they stick a needle in Regan's neck and all this blood comes gushing out. There's a common misconception that they're giving her a spinal tap, but it's actually a PEG."

Tress craned her head around to look up at me. "Sam, what are you talking about?"

I suddenly remembered she was Catholic. Maybe the film was too offensive for her to have seen it. But surely she'd _heard_ about it. "_The Exorcist_. It was a really controversial film that came out a few years ago. You didn't see it?"

"Never heard of it."

That floored me. The idea that the movie could be about Catholic priests exorcising a demon from a little girl, and the priests at her church hadn't even mentioned it in any of their sermons? That seemed hard to believe. "Tress, it's one of the most controversial horror films of all time. How could you not have heard of it?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. I just haven't."

I tried one more time. "Young girl played by Linda Blair, possessed by a demon, spits pea soup on a priest, turns her head completely around like a lighthouse beacon, gets exorcised by two Catholic priests, none of this is ringing a bell?"

At first she shook her head, but then she added, "Oh, like the William Peter Blatty book? I didn't know they made a movie of that."

I just sat back in disbelief. "I thought everyone had seen _The Exorcist_."

Shrugging again, she offered, "Maybe I forgot it. The brain tumor did affect my memory a little."

"Really?"

"Yeah." Tress then made a devilish little joke that just further stole my heart. "By the way, you're cute. What's your name?"

I rolled my eyes and gave her a tickle.

"So, you say Regan had a PEG in the movie?"

"Yeah, and they made it seem really awful." Now I realized why she was so scared. "Do they really hurt that bad?"

Tress nodded solemnly. "The doctor explained that they would be removing some of my cerebrospinal fluid and replacing it with something that would show up better on X-rays. I think it was oxygen. Not only did it give me the worst headache of my life, but it also made me projectile vomit for two days and screwed up my balance for even longer. And now I've got to go through that all over again. Sometimes I think I'd prefer the brain tumor," she huffed.

With a snicker, I said, "You don't mean that."

"No, I don't. What I do mean is that I hope the tumor is gone for good so this will be the last PEG I ever suffer through."

I kissed her on the head and snuggled her close. "It will be."

Of course I had no idea if that was true, but sitting there in the crook of that tree with Tress in my arms, I wanted it to be.

"Sam," she began, "will you stay overnight with me for a few days? The night before and after the test especially? It's going to be rough, and it would be nice to have someone there to take care of me."

"Oh sure, no problem. I'd be happy to," I replied.

"Great. Thank you." Tress looked at me gratefully, peering over her shoulder. "We can break out the Scrabble board."

"Woo," I teased. "Hot times."

Later that night, Castiel was in my room again, looking out the window as if he was reflecting on something that troubled him. I had seen him deep in thought like this so many times lately that it was starting to make me edgy. Were things not going as planned? Was there a problem?

Did he know something I didn't?

"You seem troubled," I remarked, putting my busboy apron on the bed.

Castiel half-turned, gave me a glance, and returned to peering out the window. "Just anxious to see this thing through."

"Oh." After taking a seat on the end of the bed, I told Cas about the test Tress was going to take on Friday and how I'd be looking after her in the days before and after. "It's practically barbaric, how they diagnose and monitor brain tumors in this time period. Hard to believe it was only thirty years ago," I sighed. "Poor Tress."

At this point, Castiel had turned from the window to listen to my plans for the next few days. I saw a sad look pass across his features before he hid it behind a more neutral expression. "You're really fond of her, aren't you?"

With no reason to lie, I just told him the truth. "Cas, I'm in love with her."

He lowered his head, almost as if he expected this might happen when he sent me on this mission, and thought it might not be a positive turn of events. "This complicates things," Castiel said. "Does she feel the same way about you?"

"I think so," I replied.

"Hm." Cas fell silent.

"Castiel, I can see the problems inherent in the feelings I have for Theresa. We're from different times. But we can't help it that we fell in love with each other." Apprehensive, I just came out and asked him. "Cas, what happens when all of this is over? When Tress and her son are safe, am I expected to just go back to my own time and forget her?"

It was a difficult question, one he had to take time to think over. "We hadn't really planned for this, Sam." After a deep sigh, he asked, "What do you want to happen?"

"I'd like to stay with her," I began, and before I could say anymore, he brought up the only major issue there was with my plan.

"What about Dean?" Castiel said.

It wasn't like I hadn't thought about it. "If I asked him to, Dean would come back in time with me. He'd probably love to live in the 70's anyway, with all the classic rock he listens to. Or maybe... maybe it would be safer for Tress and Paul to live in the future with us. It could get all these demons off her tail." I shrugged. "They won't be looking for her there."

Surprising me, Castiel became one sarcastic little SOB in reaction. "Isn't that the Winchester way, messing with time and reality, just so long as they get what they want."

I fumed angrily; he must've seen it in my face, because he crossed his arms, ready for a stern argument. "Why shouldn't we? The other angels expect us to just act our parts like we're puppets instead of people. But we're not puppets. Don't we have a right to be happy? Besides, you're the one who brought me here in the first place!" Attempting to keep this from turning into a big pointless fight, I tried to calm down a little. "Look, I never said this wasn't going to be a complicated relationship. But it's worth fighting for. There will just have to be a... a compromise."

"A compromise?" Cas said it as if this was a ludicrous way to refer to what I was asking. "You don't think it's at all unfair to ask your brother to live out the rest of his life in a time period that begins before he was even born?"

I could see why Castiel would have such concerns, but I knew Dean better than he did. "Cas, come on. You know that nothing means more to Dean than family. His happiness has very little to do with which time period he's living in."

Cas gave a small nod. "I suppose you're right." Lowering his head again, he added, "I'm just worried that you're sacrificing too much for Theresa. We thought you might grow close to her, but this..."

I couldn't help but smile. "Sometimes, these unexpected things just happen."

"Yes," Castiel agreed, looking up with a touch of irony in his eyes. "Yes, I suppose they do."

* * *

><p>Thursday night, I stayed over at Tress's just like I said I would. She paid me back by stuffing me with some of the best home cooked tuna casserole I've ever had. "You even bake breadcrumbs on top," I remarked, shoveling a second helping onto my plate. Tress had no idea how many home cooked meals I <em>hadn't<em> received in my life. "Yumyum yum."

Tress laughed, her hands folded on the table while she watched me eat. "You act like you've never had tuna casserole in your life."

"I haven't, not like this." I started to explain that it was because of growing up without a mother, but that seemed too depressing a thing to say. Instead, I added, "My dad couldn't cook."

"Ah, I see. Well, eat all you like. That's what I made it for."

I noticed she barely had a few bites before pushing her plate away. "Why aren't you pigging out with me?"

Tress sighed. "I don't want to eat a lot the night before my test." With a roll of her eyes, she explained, "Less to toss later," and made a descriptive throwing-up noise.

"Oh." Shoveling some more casserole and green beans into my mouth, I shook my head. "You're going to be awfully hungry later."

"I can take it."

It wasn't as fun, eating alone. "Oh come on, it won't bother me if you throw up after your test." I pointed to the kitchen. "You got a mop in there, lotsa towels in the cabinet... I'm a good cleaner-upper."

Snickering, she swatted me with her linen napkin. "Sam! Ew."

"I'm just sayin'." I kept eating. "How do you cook these green beans? They got all this extra flavor."

"Uh, you cook them with a ham bone, onion, and some other stuff."

"Ham bone, that's it. I knew I tasted something meaty in there."

As she watched me cram more food in my mouth, suddenly her stomach made a loud _Oioioi_ noise. I saw Tress lick her lips. "A few green beans couldn't upset my stomach that much," she said, and gave in, serving herself about three spoonfuls of them.

She wound up having a couple extra spoonfuls of tuna casserole too. And that was from a serving spoon, so they were nice helpings. I grinned to myself.

As she suggested the day before, we played Scrabble after dinner. I noticed that Tress kept spelling out foods. DONUT. BREAD. And my favorite, MILK DUD. "I'm not sure I should let you get away with that one," I said with a laugh. "I doubt that's a Scrabble-regulation word."

"Oh, like you didn't just spell out SANTA," she giggled back.

"What's wrong with Santa?"

"Proper names aren't allowed."

"But MILK DUD is?"

We had a good laugh and just continued the game, overlooking each of our little cheat words.

When she added on to my TWIN to spell TWINKIE, I remarked, "Why don't you get some more to eat? It's obvious you're still hungry."

"I'd rather spell them out than eat them."

"Suit yourself." Since she was advertising what was on her mind, I decided to do the same. I first spelled out KISS. Then TOUCH. And after she answered my SANTA with CLAUS, I added CARESS to the board.

Tress looked at me coyly. "Are you trying to tell me something?"

I added a few more letters, building on my own word. TOUCHYOU. "What's my score for that one?" I asked.

She leaned across the board and planted a kiss on my mouth. "I get the feeling that you're in the mood to fool around."

"What ever gave you that idea?"

Grinning, Tress leaned back. "Oh, and you get no points for that word. Totally illegal."

I pretended to be offended. "And I let you have DONUT."

"There's nothing wrong with DONUT."

"I don't think it's spelled that way."

The grin faded from her mouth. "You don't?"

"No."

"Well..." Tress got to her feet. "I'll just check it in the dictionary."

She was completely serious. I came up behind her and put my arms around her waist, batting the dictionary out of her hands. "Uh, Sam!" she snapped.

"I had no idea you were such a competitive board game player."

"Competitive? I just want things to be fair," Tress replied. The irritation in her voice was so cute.

"Okay, MILK DUD," I retorted.

At this point, she finally laughed, and cuddled back into me. I turned her around and we started to kiss. Within a minute, we were melting into each other with some of the deepest kisses we'd shared yet. Things were getting pretty hot when she pushed away and said, "Sam, I don't mean to put a halt on things just when it's getting good, but... I'm worried. I think I should show you something before we go any further."

I shrugged. "Okay."

Tress took me by the hand and led me into the bedroom. We'd never petted in here before. My heart was racing at the thought that maybe... but instead, she took out a bottle of lotion. "My, um, my skin gets kind of dry this time of year anyway, but with the radiation and stuff..." She ran a hand over her wig. "Sam, I've lost almost all my hair under here. I think it's time you saw it, because you're going to see it tomorrow."

This wasn't something I had expected. "Sure, okay."

"No, I don't think you understand. I'm not kidding. My head is almost completely bald, and it's all red and scarred, and..." Tress choked back tears.

"Hey..." I took her in my arms. She leaned on my shoulder and began to cry. "It doesn't matter."

"I don't want you to be turned off by how I look without the wig," she sobbed.

"That's impossible."

"Oh really?" Tress dared me by taking the wig off. It was the first time I had seen her head without it. And it looked exactly as she had described - patches of buzz cut, thin hair in one or two places, but the rest, bald and red.

I kissed her forehead. "You still turn me on," I said, and gave her the dirtiest, neediest kiss I could for good measure.

She nearly fanned herself. "Wow, I guess I do." We both giggled and snickered.

I pointed to the lotion. "Do you want me to help you put that on?"

"No, I better do it so I can be careful." Tress indicated her head. "Some of these spots get so dry and itchy."

I watched her put the lotion on, a little impatient for her to finish so I could help her rub some more into other places. It didn't even matter if those places were dry and itchy or not, I just wanted to make her feel good. The fact that it was the night before her test and all she was concerned about was me seeing her without her wig... I wrapped my arms around her waist and kissed the back of her neck.

Tress sniffled. "You still want to?"

"I always want to," I said, breathing on the back of her neck.

For a second, I thought she was going to start crying again, but she got control of her emotions. Her relief reverberated from her psyche to mine through the empathic link she occasionally opened up between us. "Okay, but I want to put the wig back on. I just feel... sexier with it on."

"If you need to. Don't do it on my account, if you're more comfortable with it off."

Tress didn't say anything, just put the wig back on her head and turned to me with a smile. "Okay," she said, as if signaling the start of a race, and dove at me, kissing me on the lips.

Somehow, we wound up sitting on the bed. I'm not even sure when that happened, just sometime when we were kissing and happily groping each other. Panting, I asked, "Are there any other places where your skin gets dry?"

Clearly she couldn't see the motivation for that question, because she looked at me like I was nuts. "Sam, what?"

"Is your skin dry anywhere else?" I questioned again. "Hand me the lotion."

It seemed like Tress was starting to get it. She grabbed the lotion off her dresser and handed it to me. I put some into my hand and said, "These legs look like they could use a little special attention," and took hold of her left ankle, lifting her leg onto the bed and rubbing the lotion up and down her calf. With that denim skirt on, Tress had left me easy access to her lovely, bare legs.

"Mmm," she purred. She closed her eyes, enjoying my little massage.

"And these knees... they look a little dry." I rubbed lotion into her left knee.

She shivered. Her knee trembled under my hand.

Almost straightening her leg, I caressed the lotion into the back of Tress's knee before moving up the back of her thigh. The muscles there tensed up in surprise, and she gasped. "Your thighs are soft and lovely, but a little moisturizing can never hurt." While massaging the lotion into her skin, I got her to lie back on the bed, making it easier for me to spread her legs apart and rub more lotion into the insides of her thighs.

At first, Tress lost herself in what I was doing, trembling and moaning lightly, her skirt pushed all the way up to her waist. I leaned over and dared to kiss the inside of her thighs, working my way upward.

It was when I hooked my fingers into the waistband of her panties and tried to pull them down that she gasped and started to sit up. "No, no, Sam, that's too far. I can't, I just can't."

"But I want to make you feel good," I protested. "I have no expectations."

"I'm just not ready to go that far..."

I helped her sit up. "It's okay, it's okay, shhhh. There are other things we can do." Gently, I coaxed her to sit on my lap, her back to my chest. "You have many dry, itchy places."

Tress giggled at my little joke, shivering with arousal.

Pumping more lotion onto my fingers, I reached down her shirt and massaged it into her upper chest, just above her cleavage. "Is it itchy here?" I began to unbutton her shirt.

Tress just nodded, playing along, a hand snaking up the back of my neck and into my hair.

I kept up a mantra in my head, one I hoped I could make her feel should she choose to dip into my emotions. _Don't stop me, don't stop me, don't stop me,_ I repeated to myself as I got her shirt open and unsnapped her bra. She did not stop me, just laid her head back on my shoulder as I rubbed the lotion into her breasts, paying extra attention to her nipples. They became like pebbles under the tips of my fingers.

Tress moaned, her mouth now near my ear. "Sam," she breathed.

I kissed her exposed neck.

Soon, she had spread her legs again, opening them across my lap until her knees were on the outside of mine. Even if Tress rebuffed me again, I knew she wanted to go further from that body language, and I was going to take her there. Somehow, I would make it okay.

Most of the lotion had been rubbed into her skin, but my hand was still smeared with a little of it. "Are you dry down here?" I joked, and unbuttoned her skirt. Tress gasped, but didn't stop me, so I slid my fingers into her panties. Without even going all the way in, I could already feel the warm, moist heat. "No, most certainly not dry."

Dirty talk like that wasn't something I did very often, not unless we were in a situation like this, where teasing had become a version of foreplay. Tress actually blushed at those words. "Sam," she retorted scoldingly.

But she didn't exactly stop me. Instead, Tress whispered to me, "I'm not ready to go all the way with you, Sam, I mean, I want to, but not tonight, I'm just not - "

I cut her off, repeating, "It's okay, I have no expectations. We don't have to go all the way. I just want to make you feel good. Please let me make you feel good." As I said that, I slipped my fingers deep inside and stroked what I knew would illicit the response I wanted. "Please don't stop me."

Tress shuddered all over at that first touch of my fingers, letting out a moan. I kept stroking until she was panting and moving her hips in time with my fingers, her head thrown back on my shoulder. "Sam!" she cried. I kissed her neck again.

We had gone this far once before, but Tress had stopped me when she got too worked up. We had never orgasmed in each other's presence before. I intended to change that. She was going to have an orgasm, and it would be beautiful.

Tress seemed to sense it coming. She grasped my wrist. "Sam, maybe you should stop," she panted.

In response, I stroked her harder and faster. "I want to make you feel good," I told her again, and whispered in her ear, "Just let go, baby."

"Sam, I..."

I said it again. "Just let go. Let me see you, Tress."

She knew what I wanted to see. And finally, she did let go, and moved her hips even more in time with my fingers. Tress came shortly after, a panting, trembling, moaning mess, the most beautiful thing she could have shown me that night.

"Sam! Oh, Sam!" she moaned, her chest heaving with every cry.

At that moment, Tress lost any control she had over her empathy, and her orgasm was projected right into my head. It felt so raw and delicious that I went over the edge too, right into my pants. We shook and panted against each other.

Tress had heard the noise I'd made. "You, um, did you...?"

"Yeah," I replied with a bashful little laugh. "You just did it for me."

"But... I didn't touch you..."

I tapped my temple. "Yeah you did."

Now it was her turn to be bashful. "I, uh... I don't know how to explain that..." Tress began, looking away.

"That's alright, you don't have to." I turned her face back towards me and gave her a kiss. "I understand."

She didn't seem to be in the mood for long explanations of her empathy anyway, and just let it go for the night. "We should, um... clean up and get in our pajamas, don't you think?"

I nodded, then kissed her one last time before we separated to get ready for bed.

That night, I slept in her bed with her. It was the first time we'd done that. We slept facing each other, sometimes cuddling, sometimes sharing a little kiss, until we both nodded off.

It was one of the best nights of my life.


	6. Chapter 6: And As We Wind on Down

Chapter 6: And as We Wind on Down the Road

Words: 3,979

Tress was right. The PEG was truly awful, to watch and to know that she was going through it. I could tell just by watching her face through the observation window and seeing her cry that she was in terrible pain. Sometimes, the ache in her head would echo to me through her empathy, and if just a touch of it felt that bad, imagine how Tress must've felt.

For the first time, I thought maybe we should take her into the future, Castiel and me. Where there were better diagnostic techniques. But after the way he'd reacted when I suggested taking Tress and Paul to 2010, I decided against it. She was already enduring the PEG anyway; it was too late.

The doctor wanted her to come in the following Wednesday morning for the test results. It shouldn't take that long to look at a bunch of X-rays and make his decision, but he knew she'd be in no shape to hear these results right after the test. No, he wanted her to go straight home to bed, after we got the pain killers he'd prescribed for her.

I had to help Tress out of the standard hospital wheelchair and into the cab. It was obvious she wasn't going to make it to the pharmacy; I needed to take her home first. When the cab drove up in front of her building, Tress opened the door and promptly threw up all over the sidewalk. Some people walking by recoiled and nearly screamed over it.

"She's really sick," I said to them, and helped her out of the cab.

I wound up nearly having to carry her up to the apartment. Tress's legs were wobbly and her balance unpredictable. "It's just a little further," I told her as we approached her door.

"Sam, it really hurts," she wailed.

"I know it does. Okay, let me unlock the door."

Only a few feet into the apartment and she threw up again, on the living room rug. And when she said 'projectile vomit,' she meant it. "Sorry," she said pitifully.

"It's okay baby, you can't help it."

I laid her on the bed, took off her shoes, and put the covers over her. "When I get back, we'll get you in your jammies, okay? I'll be back soon with your pain pills. Do you need anything right now?"

With her hands over her face, Tress groaned, "A bucket. Put it by the bed, please."

I decided that getting her pills was more important than an immediate cleanup of the living room rug, so I left it until I returned from the drug store. When I got back, Tress dozed in a fitful sleep. She'd left a little present for me in the bucket as well.

I leaned down and stroked her hair back from her forehead. She had pulled herself over to the side of the bed to vomit and just stayed there, head half on and half off the pillow. "Tress? I've got your pills."

She groaned, coming awake. "Oh. Thanks."

"I'll just get you some water."

I helped her take the pills, then suggested we get her into her pajamas. "No, no. Moving hurts," Tress complained.

"But you can't sleep in your bra and your jeans," I said. "That can't be comfortable."

"It hurts too much to move," she whined.

"Okay, okay. Would it hurt if I took off your jeans?"

"You can try it."

I got her jeans undone and then grabbed them by the cuffs, dragging them off her body. Tress groaned once and then curled into a fetal position, burying her face in the pillow. "Thanks, much better."

"What about your bra?" I asked.

She rolled over a little, offering her back to me. I pulled up the back of her shirt and unsnapped the bra. The one she'd had on last night was a front closure one; the sudden memory made me grin.

"Good enough, thank you," Tress said into the pillow.

I couldn't help but be amused by her almost complete avoidance of moving, although I could understand it. "You're welcome," I said, and put the covers over her again.

With a kiss to the forehead, I left her to sleep.

Cleaning up wasn't so bad. I'd kinda gotten used to getting stains out of things over my years of hunting. Usually, it was blood, though. The bucket was easier. Dump, rinse, put back for further use.

Okay, I'll stop.

Tress slept for the rest of the day and into the night, waking up only to take more pills. During my solitary time in her apartment, I got a little snoopy - I couldn't help it. Once you fall in love with someone, you just start to feel like their home is your home, and you get curious.

Besides, the desk drawer was slightly ajar.

In that drawer I found a letter Tress had been writing to her mother. What it said about me made my heart soar. Seriously, if my heart could have jumped out of my chest and danced down a hill, singing, "The hills are alive with the sound of music!" it would have.

The letter said...

_Dear Mother,_

_Hello. I'm writing you because I was hoping we could start talking again, and this seemed like a good way to begin making peace. I've spoken with Father Calero and Father Beresford, and they reminded me that although you did things that hurt me in regards to Daddy's death, I only have one mother, and that I had said some very harsh and cruel things to you without hearing your side of the story. I'd like for us to start talking now. First off, I'm sorry that I said all those awful things. You are still my mommy, and I love you, and I don't wish you were dead instead of Daddy. I'm so, so sorry I hurt you._

_I was hoping you could come visit soon. Mother, I've met someone. You'll like him very much. His name is Sam, and he's everything I've ever wanted in a man. I'm very much in love with him. I've decided that if my test results say that I've finally beat this cancer, I'm going to tell him how I feel. I'm pretty sure that he feels the same way about me._

_Please write or call me._

_With love,_

_Terry_

After I finished that letter, I put it back, and got into bed with Tress and cuddled up against her. When I proceeded to start kissing the side of her head and her ear, she groaned at me, "Saaaam, whatareyoudooooing?"

"Nothing, baby," I said, and wrapped an arm around her waist. "Just cuddling. Go back to sleep."

"Umph," was her reply.

I'd take her just like this, in sickness, and in health.

* * *

><p>We spent most of the weekend in bed. By Monday, Tress felt well enough to do a few things for herself, but she still couldn't go to work. I, however, had to go to work.<p>

On my way out, I met the owner of the apartment building in which Tress lived. He was outside, watering the landscaping and hosing down the sidewalk, something I'm sure he had to do on Friday as well. (Okay, I mean it this time, I'll stop.) Seems people in the neighborhood had been noticing things and talking, maybe even to Tress. Even though I didn't know his name, the man recognized me instantly. "Hey, aren't you Theresa's guy?"

That made me grin. Widely. "Yeah, that's me. Sam." We shook hands.

"How's she doing? Didn't she have some sort of test on Friday?"

"Yeah. We're supposed to go get the results on Wednesday."

"Well, we're all pulling for her in the office. Theresa's a good tenant. Never had any problems with her." He winked at me. "You treat her good, okay? And send her our love, from Mr. and Mrs. Bascarelli."

I grinned back, happy as a lark. "Not a problem."

Something hit me about halfway to the hotel. All these people that Theresa knew in the neighborhood, and at The Millstone, and even the hospital, and not a single one of them ever asked about Paul. How is Paul doing? When is Paul coming home? Not even _Where is Paul?_ I hadn't thought about it before then, but it was awfully strange, wasn't it?

It was the first thing I asked Castiel when I saw him that night. I was getting some fresh clothes from my hotel room, ready to head back to Tress's, when he appeared behind me. "How is Theresa?" Castiel asked.

I turned to him. "She's better today."

He seemed pleased to hear that, smiling a little.

"Castiel," I began, "I noticed something weird, and I wonder if you know anything about it."

"What's that?"

"Well, Theresa knows all these people in the neighborhood, and at work and such, and they're always asking how she's doing... but no one ever asks about Paul. Not a single person asks how he is, not even _where_ he is. Do you know why? Are all these people in on it or something?"

Frowning slightly, Cas said, "No, they're not 'in on it.' Sam, it's extremely important that no one mention Paul outside of this room. When we talk, our conversations are protected, but when you're not in my presence, there is nothing I can do to keep the demons from hearing you, or anyone else, for that matter. Paul had to be wiped from the memories of everyone who knows Theresa so they wouldn't do exactly what you expected them to do - ask about him. Once he can return home safely, I will put everyone's minds back like I found them."

My head spun at the idea of what Castiel had done. "My God, you messed with the minds of everyone Tress knows? Even her _mother_ has forgotten Paul?"

"Essentially, yes," he replied with a nod. "As I said, I'll fix it all once Paul can come home."

"Wow, this is blowing my mind." I ran both hands through my hair.

"Sam, do you really understand how serious this is?" Castiel asked me. "Because I need to know that you do. If you are truly in love with Theresa Callan, then you need to understand that this child will, at times, be in your care. Paul is a very important vessel. I gather that you'll more see him as just a human child, but you need to realize that the outer shell isn't all there is to him. I need to know that when the time comes, you will be ready to allow Paul to play his part, no matter what."

My first instinct was to tell Cas that he knew where he could stick it, because hadn't we gone through hell to escape the other angels for the sake of free will? And he wanted me to be prepared to take that away from Paul? But then I remembered that this was the exact reason Castiel had taken me back in time in the first place, that the purpose of saving Theresa was to ensure that Paul could and would act as this vessel when the time came. "But, it will still be Paul's choice, won't it? He won't be forced to be a vessel?"

Cas nodded. "It has always been a vessel's choice."

"What about the shit Zachariah's pulled? Trying to manipulate and strong-arm Dean and I into acting as vessels? Those things won't be done to Paul, will they?"

He was already shaking his head before I could finish. "You know that Joshua and I do not employ such tactics. I promise you, it will be Paul's choice."

This satisfied me. "Alright, then."

"Then you understand why I had to change the memories of everyone Theresa knows?"

"Yeah."

"And you understand that if the time comes, you cannot just think of Paul as the human shell, but also as the holy purpose within him?"

For some reason, those words sent a chill up my spine, like they were far more personal than I truly knew. "Yes, I understand."

Castiel nodded once. "Good."

To myself, I hoped that time would not come, because it would mean that we were facing the Apocalypse. It wasn't just about Dean and I and the fate of the world anymore, but about the destiny of Tress's little boy.

Of course, at the time, I had no idea what a skillful liar and manipulator Castiel had become.

* * *

><p>Wednesday came. Tress was, of course, extremely nervous. While we waited in the doctor's office, I held her hand to show her I was there, no matter what the outcome.<p>

The doctor came in and, after the pleasantries, put a series of X-rays up on a light board to the left of us. The first few were the before. The others were the after.

"I see no traces of the tumor," he said with a big smile. "Theresa, you're in remission."

Her face lit up with such sunny joy, sometimes it breaks my heart now to think of it. "I'm cured?"

"You're cured," he confirmed, nodding his head.

With a happy squeal, Tress jumped up and actually hugged the doctor. He took it with good humor, patting her back. Then she turned and squeezed me around the neck.

"I'm cured, Sam, I'm cured!" she kept saying in my ear.

I lifted her briefly off the ground, nearly crushing her against me. "I know, baby. It's so wonderful."

The rosary had worked. I had accomplished what I came here to do.

Or so I thought.

At that moment, Tress began to cry, and I did not let her go, but held her for a few minutes until the overwhelmed, happy tears subsided. Then, while she was thanking the doctor about two million times, I took a close look at the X-rays out of curiosity.

We had never really talked about where Tress's tumor was located in her brain; it's just kind of an awkward subject to bring up. Now I could see that it had been in the temporal lobe. I asked the doctor about the location and he used the word "hippocampal," meaning that it was next to the hippocampus. There was just something too... authentic about those X-rays. Looking at them, I somehow knew they hadn't been angel-Photoshopped. Call it a sixth sense.

Somehow, I knew that Castiel had lied to me. That whatever the demons had done with their spell, they had actually given Theresa cancer. It was gone now, but she had really had a brain tumor, and the chemotherapy and radiation had worked with our prayers over the rosary to cure her. My poor Tress.

Why had Cas lied about a thing like that? It was something I'd have to discuss with him later. Right then, Tress and I had some celebrating to do.

I took her out to lunch at a fancy restaurant with an actual wine list. She wasn't much of a drinker, but that day she had three glasses of some very nice dessert wine. By the time we got back to her apartment, Tress was feeling very happy and quite tipsy.

The weather good and the mood even better, we walked back to her place. Everybody she saw that she even slightly knew heard the great news.

"I'm cured," she said to them, giggling and hugging all over me. "My tumor's gone."

They all congratulated her, shook her hand, gave her a hug. Everyone couldn't be more overjoyed to know that sometimes, a person gets a break.

We both giggled our way through the door and Tress went straight to the record player, choosing a Led Zeppelin album. She put on "Stairway to Heaven." I watched the record turn for a moment; it wasn't something I'd seen much of, being born in 1983. I was more used to cassettes being played in the car. She interrupted my train of thought when she rubbed against my arm and said, "Dance with me."

"My pleasure," I replied. I took one of her hands and the other, she placed on my side, and we slow danced in her living room, just grinning at each other. Within seconds, Tress laid her head on my chest and we were swaying back and forth, circling a small space across the little rug between her TV and her couch, and it was one of the most romantic and _erotic_ moments of my life. I hadn't felt like this since some of my best times with Jess.

About halfway through the song, she looked up at me and said, "I want you to kiss me."

"So I'll kiss you," I quietly declared, and did so. Tress wrapped her arms around my neck and we kissed until we practically melted into each other.

We did not let each other go, but we still swayed to the music, which was starting to change tempo. "I want you to do that again," she said. I could hear the urgency creeping into her voice.

Another kiss later and her hands running through my hair, Tress brushed her lips against mine and whispered, "I want you to take me to bed."

My brain shorted out for a moment. I could hear her breath quickening. Did she really mean what I thought she meant? "You want to...?"

Tress nodded at me. It was what I had been waiting for, what we had been building up to for over a month. "Make love to me, Sam," she begged, and kissed me hard.

The music swelled, changing into a faster tempo at the same time we did. Within seconds, it was all searching hands and hungry kisses as she worked at the buttons of my shirt. All the sexual tension we'd built up was exploding right there. I got her shirt off over her head and she grabbed my shoulders and climbed me, wrapping her legs around my waist. I carried her into the bedroom, fumbling with the snap of her bra and slamming us both into the doorframe, sending us into breathless giggles.

The drums in the next room mirrored how frenzied we felt as we struggled to get our jeans off, both at the same time. I became aware of the fact that we were grunting and panting and fumbling all over each other.

It was glorious.

Yanking at her jeans, she got mine open, and at some point, hers came all the way down. We were both still partially dressed, me more than her, and our legs weren't even fully on the bed, but it didn't matter. The straps of Tress's bra were still looped loosely over her arms and it sometimes got in the way when I went to suck at her breasts, giving me a mouthful of fabric, but again, it didn't matter. Her naked chest pressed against mine and I loved it; I wanted it all just like this. Imperfect and perfect at the same time.

Tress wrapped her legs around my waist, ushering me in. I found my way deep inside her. She threw her head back and moaned. When I started to move, to thrust, Tress encouraged me further. "Sam! Yes!" she cried. I was aware of making noises too, but it was her cries that moved me forward, anything I could do to please her.

Tress looked so beautiful with her head thrown back and mouth open, panting and moaning in ecstasy. Neither one of us lasted long. Within minutes, she was shaking and crying out my name, clutching the muscles in my back, and I buried my face in her neck and climaxed inside her.

I know it sounds corny, but I felt like we really became one when we made love. One soul, one body.

At some point, the song had ended, and the record player started the album over as it had been set to do. I looked down at her under me and realized that our movements had slightly dislodged her wig; it was crooked on her head. It made me chuckle.

Tress rubbed the back of her calf slowly over my bottom, just savoring the moment. I hadn't even moved; I was still on top of her. "What?"

"Your hair's a little crooked," I said, kissing her cheek.

Rolling her eyes and laughing, she straightened it a little. "Better?"

"Mm-hm."

"Sam..." Tress looked absolutely joyous at this moment, her face shining with sweat and hope. "...I'm so happy. Do you love me? Because I love you." She swallowed. Her eyes grew big. "I'm in love with you, Sam."

I just smiled back at her. "I'm in love with you too, Tress."

"Oh," she cooed, and hugged my neck, then gave me a long, contented kiss.

We removed the rest of our clothes, moved further up the bed, and spent the rest of the afternoon cuddling and making love. Nothing could be wrong with the world on such a perfect day.

* * *

><p>After dinner, I went back to my room at The Millstone to get another change of clothes. Tomorrow, Tress would return to work and tell everyone the good news about her tumor. Still, I couldn't resist telling Bo and Slade. They were both overjoyed, and vowed to act surprised when Tress told them herself.<p>

Castiel was already in my room. I just looked at him and wondered why he was sitting there in one of the chairs that flanked the windows, grinning like the Cheshire cat with his hands in his lap, fingers twiddling. It was like he knew a very wonderful secret.

"You must know, then," I said as I packed a few things into a little bag.

Suddenly, he looked slightly alarmed. "Know what?"

"That Tress is cured," I answered.

Now Cas seemed relieved, his face relaxing. "Oh, oh, yes. Yes, we know all about it."

"Angel grapevine, huh?"

Castiel gave me a nod. "Yes, that's right."

I gave him a little smile before bringing up his deception. "Cas, why did you lie to me?"

He frowned. "What did I lie about, Sam?"

"You told me Theresa didn't really have cancer. But I looked at those X-rays today and I got this feeling from them... of authenticity. Realness. She really was sick, wasn't she?"

After lowering his head for a moment, Castiel replied, "I'm sorry, Sam. Yes, you're right. Theresa really did have cancer. But the doctor and the rosary have cured her, so it's alright now."

"Why did you lie to me?" I asked.

"Because..." Cas thought about it a moment, choosing his words. "...I didn't want you to worry. Curing a demonic spell seems like a task you're more ready to take on than curing a woman of cancer, doesn't it?"

"Then that's what the spell did? The demons gave her a brain tumor?"

"Yes," he said, nodding.

I curled my hand into a fist. "God, those bastards. That's so cruel. If they wanted her dead, that was surely a slow, horrible way to die."

"I believe that they were hoping it would somehow draw Paul's location out of her, sort of a ransom of her own life." Castiel patted my shoulder. "But don't worry about it now; that part is over. The doctor's treatment and your prayers over the rosary have cured her. The spell has failed."

I nodded and sighed in relief. "Cas, when can Paul come home? Is it safe yet?"

Smiling a little, he said, "Soon, Sam. It won't be long now." Cas handed me a shirt from my duffle bag. "Perhaps only a matter of months."

That little shit.


	7. Chapter 7: The Apostle of Tarsus

Chapter 7: The Apostle of Tarsus

Words: 5,197

Months did pass, about two, in fact. Tress and I lived in bliss, going out on dates, attending church, making love, just getting to know each other better. We went bowling and played board games a lot. I couldn't resist breaking the rules of the games on purpose, knowing it would make her angry, and then laughing at her as she fumed at me. It was so cute how competitive she could be over something so silly.

And there was the dancing. Tress loved to go dancing. We'd hit up a rock n' roll club every weekend and she and I would let loose out there with all the other couples. Not me so much; I'm not much of a dancer - I'd just kind of move to the music while she went crazy all over me, tossing her hair around and climbing me like a tree. I loved that part. I loved watching her, so sexy with her hips swaying and her arms around my neck. When Tress let go and lost herself in the music, there was nothing like watching her body move.

Often, I thought of hunting, and of Dean, and I'd ask Castiel questions that always received the same elusive answers.

"Cas, when can Paul come home?"

"Soon, Sam. Soon. It's not safe yet."

And then, "Cas, when can we bring Dean here?"

"Soon, Sam. Soon. The time isn't quite right."

Then came the day that was the worst, and one of the best, of my life. The day when all of Castiel's betrayals came to light.

Tress had been acting squirrely all morning, grinning and giggling whenever she'd look at me like she had a secret. I gave her a kiss and we both went to work, but I didn't see her for the rest of the day.

When I came over that night, the atmosphere had become vastly different.

Tress had given me a key about two months before. I let myself in, and couldn't have been more stunned by what I saw.

Religious statues overcame every inch of the living room. Figurines of the Virgin Mary, Jesus, and angels occupied any bit of free space on each end table, and had been lined up between the door and the rest of the apartment, forming some sort of tiny wall of protection. That was an amazing sight in and of itself, but then there were the crosses to contend with. Crucifixes and crosses of many types and sizes had been hung on every wall of the living room from floor to ceiling as if the place had been transformed into a hunter's ultimate ward against evil. Except Tress was no hunter.

Like all this wasn't perplexing enough, Father Calero sat in the arm chair, facing the front door. His face was stern and ready.

"What's going on?" I asked, indicating the state of the room. "Where's Tress?"

That's when I realized I could hear her breathing, quick with fear. She was sitting behind the arm chair. _Hiding_. My first thought was that something had happened with the demons. Had they tried to hurt her? Had they done something to Paul?

"Sam, would you show me your left shoulder, please?"

I couldn't have been more confused by that request. "You want to see my shoulder?"

Father Calero just nodded.

"Why?"

"Do it!" Tress snapped from behind the chair.

I leaned over a bit, trying to see her. "Tress, what's going on?"

Sighing, Father Calero sat forward and said, "Sam, do you have a birthmark on your left shoulder?"

As can be expected, I had no idea why he wanted to know a thing like that, but I answered his question anyway in hopes it would shed some light on why he and Tress were behaving as they were. "Yes. A little one. It's sort of in the shape of South America."

Tress let out a small whimper. "I told you."

Lowering his head, Father Calero sighed again, and stood up. "That's all the proof I need, then. Theresa, come out from behind the chair. You'll be okay. You must be strong and face your adversary."

_Adversary?_ "What are you talking about, Father Calero?" The way they were acting, it was making me uncomfortable. "Would you mind telling me what's going on?"

Tress stood and came out from behind the chair. She clutched a crucifix to her chest. The look on her face... I'll never forget it. She was terrified. Wide-eyed, panting in fear, shaking... and she wasn't reacting that way to Father Calero. I couldn't deny by the way she looked at my face that Tress was afraid of _me._

Taking her arm to reassure her, Father Calero began to explain. "A few months ago, I started reading a series of articles written in a religious journal by a man named Finlay Keel."

Keel? Could he be a relative of Alva's?

"This man had translated some controversial and unaccepted manuscripts that were thought by some to be extra books of the Bible. They were in Aramaic, a language that not many people on Earth know - the language of Jesus's time. His theories are wild and not accepted by many, and at first, I thought they were a little out there too.

"That was until I met you."

Oh, no... it began to dawn on me just what this may be about.

Father Calero continued, with Tress half hiding herself behind him. "These articles detailed a possible end of the world. That it would all come down to a fight between the archangel Michael and the fallen angel Lucifer that would end the lives of at least half the world's population. But it seems that angels cannot walk the Earth without taking a human vessel. Someone has to act as Michael's vessel, and..."

"...And someone has to act as Lucifer's," I finished for him, my face falling. There was no hiding it; they already knew.

Nodding, Father Calero said, "The article described what these vessels were supposed to look like. The vessel of Michael fits your brother's description perfectly, but you already know that, don't you?"

Now I nodded, looking at Tress sadly.

"You showed Theresa a picture of him, so she confirmed it for me. I suppose it won't be a surprise to you to know that the description of Lucifer's vessel fits _you_ perfectly, will it?"

I shook my head.

"You may have noticed that I reacted to you a bit strangely back when you came into my office to ask for the rosary, all those months ago."

"I had noticed that."

"Yes, well, that's because I had been reading those articles, and they said that the vessel of Lucifer would bear the initials S.W., with the name of a weapon. Like the Winchester gun. They described the birthmark and where it would be located. They also said something that didn't make any sense to me until you mentioned your nickname for Theresa. One article said, 'He will call his woman by a lock of hair.' And you call her Tress."

My mind screamed at me to defend myself, to assure them that just because I was Lucifer's vessel, it didn't mean that I was evil. But the look on Tress's face, how terrified she was of me... it was still throwing me for a loop. She, being brought up in the Catholic church, and the man she loves turns out to be the instrument of her religion's main embodiment of evil. What would happen to us after this?

Because I remained silent, Father Calero went on speaking. "Still, Finlay Keel's theories seemed outlandish because he said that these vessels hadn't even been born yet, that they would be born in 1979 and 1983. He explained that they would be carried through time on multiple occasions by a rebel angel. When I told Theresa that, she knew exactly who this rebel angel might be."

At this point, Tress spoke up, although her voice still shook. "I got a key to your room at The Millstone and we waited there for him. Your friend in the trench coat?"

I covered my face with my hand. "Oh, no..."

"One of the articles had a diagram of a sigil that would send an angel back to Heaven, at least temporarily. It explained how to use it. So we drew it on the back of the door and when he came in, I put my hand on the sigil, just like the article said," Tress explained. She held up her hand to demonstrate, and then I could see the Band-Aid on her finger from where she'd cut herself to draw the symbol in blood. "I didn't think it would really work. It's crazy, to think some guy in a trench coat could be a rebel angel who carries men through time." She laughed, sounding a little hysterical. "But it did work! He turned to look at us and screamed before he disappeared in a brilliant flash of light. He really disappeared! He truly was an angel!"

"And that convinced us," Father Calero finished. "That convinced us that you really were the vessel of Lucifer."

Tress spoke directly to me for the first time, instead of just talking in my general direction like she had been. "I found your notes. The ones you wrote on the paper taped to the wall."

Again, I covered my face with my hand.

"Just what does all that mean, Sam? 'Theresa dies, early 1978.' Were you _planning_ something? Did you romance me just to..."

Finally, I spoke up. "No, Tress, I swear, I didn't come here to hurt you. I came here to save you. You were supposed to die from this brain tumor, but the rosary helped save your life."

"What does my brain tumor have to do with me dying in 1978?"

I just gaped at that question. It made no sense.

She continued. "And how did you know about...?" Tress put a hand to her stomach. "You are from the future, aren't you? Oh my God, how can this be real?"

Father Calero put a protective hand on her arm and ushered her behind him again. "I didn't fully believe those articles until we saw your friend disappear. And now we know who you really are."

"But that's not me," I tried to explain. "I would never say yes to Lucifer, not ever. I can't help that I'm supposed to be his vessel; it doesn't mean that I'm a bad person. It tortures me to even think of doing any of the things that Lucifer would want to do to the world, to fight my own brother to the death... I could never do it, I swear." I tried to catch Theresa's eye. "Tress, you know me. You love me, and I love you. You know I could never hurt you."

"Be strong, Theresa. Lucifer is a master manipulator," Father Calero warned.

"I'm not Lucifer!" I cried.

Tress put her hand on Father Calero's arm now, letting him know that she was strong and could speak for herself. "Sam, I'm sorry, but I can't take that chance. You're the vessel of _Lucifer._ I have to go this alone from now on."

Shaking my head, I groaned, "No..."

She shook her head too. "I can't, Sam, I just can't. I'm sorry, but... you can't be allowed to help me raise our baby."

Our... I almost couldn't form words after hearing that. "Our _baby?"_

Tress nodded. "Sam, I've been to the doctor. I found out today that I'm two months pregnant."

My mind reeled, and I began to pace the carpet in front of the door with my hands in my hair. She was pregnant with our baby.

"That's why I went to see Father Calero, to get him to bless our child. And he started telling me about his concerns for me and you, and... Sam, I promise you our child will be raised in the church to try to save his or her soul. But you can't be a part of it."

I nearly exploded. "You can't keep me out of my own child's life! Please, don't do this to me!"

Tress burst into tears. "How can I trust you after finding out a thing like this? Do you have any idea what this means?" I took a few steps toward her, and Father Calero put himself solidly between us, a warning hand held out. We began to circle the room like fighters in a boxing ring. "How do I know Satan isn't already in there?" She sobbed mournfully. "Sam, what did you put in me? I saw _Rosemary's Baby!"_

I couldn't help it, I laughed at the absurdity of what she'd just said. It made them both jump. "What do I have to do? Do I have to touch one of these crosses?" Going to the nearest wall, I put my hand on a crucifix and held it for what seemed like a sufficient amount of time, then took it off the wall and pressed it to my face. "See? It doesn't burn me. No Lucifer, just Sam in here."

A ray of hope appeared on Tress's face, but she still shook her head. "No, I can't allow myself to be swayed by your tricks. 'Even Satan disguises himself as an angel of light.'"

"Tress, look at me. Can't you see how happy we would be together? You, me, and our baby. Please don't take that away from us." I must've looked like a little lost puppy at that moment, having no idea if such a face would gain back her trust or just make her more suspicious of my motives. "I wasn't trying to put some kind of Satanic monster baby inside you. I just assumed you were on birth control."

Rolling her eyes, Tress replied, "Sam, I'm _Catholic_."

I almost couldn't help but laugh at that - it was kind of funny - but I held it back. "I should have thought of that. But I didn't, and it just happened, and here we are. Please don't run from me. I want to be a father to our child."

She just kept shaking her head. "I should have known there was something wrong here. It was all too good to be true. You were too perfect. You were everything I wanted in a man. Cute, kind, sweet, and the sex was so good..."

"...The sex was that good?" I asked before I could stop myself.

Tress shouted back, "You were just temptation! And now look where we are!"

"Tress, please..."

Without acknowledging my pleas, she said, "If the baby is a girl, I'll name it after the mother of Jesus, and if the baby is a boy, I'll name it after the apostle of Tarsus. This baby may be your child, but we can save it yet."

At this point, I broke. I started to rush at her, intending to take her in my arms and beg her not to leave me, but she held up the crucifix in her hand at arm's length and brandished it like a weapon, like the mere sight of it was supposed to make me shrivel up and scream in pain. "'Be on your guard! Your enemy the devil is like a roaring lion! He prowls around looking for someone to chew up and swallow. Stand up to him! Stand firm in what you believe!'" Tress cried.

Her religious fervor almost scared me, but I had to remember how she'd been raised and who I now was to her. The crucifix could not hurt me, though, so I grabbed her arm and wrenched it out of the way, taking her in my arms and trying to kiss her. Tress, of course, cried out in fear and struggled with me. Father Calero wanted to intervene, but he simply wasn't as strong as me; his attempts to make me let go of her did little to dislodge Tress from my embrace.

"Tress, can't you see it's me?" I kissed her cheeks, her lips, her chin, with no response but frightened struggles. "You know me, you love me, just use your empathy to feel what's in my heart. I want us to get married and raise our child together. Please, Tress, I can't help what I am. I would never say yes to Lucifer, not ever. Please trust me again!"

In retrospect, I think it may've been a mistake to bring up the empathy; I knew it wasn't a subject Tress was comfortable talking about, it was more just something she did and didn't acknowledge out loud. She let out a scream so full of terror that I let go of her immediately. It tore me up to hear her scream like that over me touching her. I was trying to woo Tress back into my arms, but she could only look at it as restraint.

Tress ran from me then, into the kitchen, where she took a butcher knife out of the block. With Father Calero and I watching in horror, she held the knife up in front of her and aimed it at her stomach, threatening to stab herself. "If you come any closer, I'll kill this baby right here and now! Don't think I won't do it!"

Even Father Calero tried to talk her out of it. "No, Theresa, that's not the way. Put the knife down."

"I'll put the knife down as soon as he leaves," Tress declared.

Stunned, I took a step toward her, and she brought the knife a few inches closer to her body, giving me an intense look that told me that she meant it. "Tress, I..."

"Just go," she commanded.

Every part of my being told me to stay and fight, but I knew that I couldn't. Tress meant what she said. I don't pretend to fully understand her fear and her beliefs, but then again, I know what's in my heart regarding being Lucifer's vessel. I've had to live with it for months. Tress had only known about it for a few hours. So I backed out of the kitchen, still trying to convince her to change her mind.

"I'm going to leave for now, but this isn't over, Tress. I'm sorry, I know you're scared, but you can't deny you still love me. You know deep down that I'm not a bad person. Please, just take a little time to think this over."

I had reached the front door. Father Calero opened it for me. "Don't worry about her, Sam. We will take care of Theresa." He shoved me out into the hall. "Go back to your own time. You're not welcome here anymore." And he slammed the door in my face.

I stood outside the door for a few minutes, stunned, unable to move, just listening to Tress cry inside the apartment while Father Calero tried to comfort her. A desperate, weak little voice inside me insisted that Father Calero was one of them, that he was possessed by one of the demons, and they were working to eradicate me from Tress's life so they could get at Paul... but a stronger voice said no. _You know what's really going on here_, that voice said. _Do the work, stupid_.

Voices began to play themselves back in my head. Things I had heard over the course of the last few months. They told me that something was wrong here. Something didn't fit.

Tress's comment that The Eagles showed a lot of promise. Bo, telling me I was younger than I looked. The fact that Tress had heard of the _Exorcist_ book, but had no knowledge of the movie's existence. The suspicions that little Alva had thrown into the mix, and even the boy's current age. _Do the math, Sam. Do the math_. All of it had me rushing outside to find the latest newspaper.

It wasn't the weekend, so the paper wasn't that thick, but it still felt like a weight in my hands as I examined it closely. June 28, 1978, it said just under the name of the paper.

I looked up at the billboard for _Animal House_ across the street from Tress's building. _Coming December 1978, National Lampoon's Animal House._

Somehow, at that moment, it dislodged a memory that hadn't come to me before, a memory of Dean once saying that he wished he could have seen _Animal House_ when it first came out...

...in the _summer_ of 1978.

There was a rushing of wind beside me, of angel's wings coming to rest. I didn't have to look to know it was Castiel. "You know what happened?"

He sighed in regret. "Yes, Sam, I know. I'm sorry."

I looked at the newspaper again. "Something isn't right about all this. You might as well come clean. What's going on here, Castiel?"

For a moment, he said nothing. Then he sighed once more. "It's all come to a head, so I might as well tell you." Castiel waved his hand before my eyes and said something in Enochian, just as he had before he brought me here. I looked at the newspaper again. What I saw made me sit down hard on the bench behind me.

The date on the paper had changed.

It now said October 26.

_1972_.

In stunned silence, I looked up at the billboard. It had also changed.

_Coming December 1972, The Poseidon Adventure_.

Somehow, I found my voice. "You've been playing me this whole time. You didn't take me back to 1978 to save Tress's life."

Castiel agreed with me. "No, I didn't."

"You brought me back to 1972 so I could meet her and..." Tress's words ran through my mind again. "The mother of Jesus is Mary, and the apostle of Tarsus is..."

Castiel nodded. "Saint Paul."

I closed my eyes, letting it all wash over me. "Holy... shit. I've been so blind. All those people, never asking a thing about Paul, and you give me some bullshit explanation and I just swallow it. People weren't asking about Paul not because of some angel mojo you performed on them, but because it's 1972 and he _hasn't been born yet_. He doesn't even exist until 1973."

Nodding again, Castiel said, "Yes. You're right, Sam."

"There never were any demons. Paul isn't in hiding and no one made Tress sick. She just got cancer and that's all."

"Yes," Castiel confirmed.

I kept on talking. "The baby Tress is carrying is Paul Callan."

The angel repeated, "Yes."

"Then... I... am Paul Callan's father."

The blood beat so loudly in my ears that I almost couldn't hear Castiel's response. "Yes," he said.

_Yes_. "Oh, my God." I dropped the newspaper and put my head in my hands. This truth, it was more than overwhelming. "Paul said his mother died in 1978. Then, Tress got cancer _twice,_ didn't she? First, in 1972, and then it reoccurred in 1978. The second time killed her."

"Yes, Sam." He just stood there, responding so coolly as if he hadn't just pulled the biggest sham on me that changed my life forever. "You've figured it all out."

"Why?" I asked. My voice shook with emotion. "Why did you do this to me? You did some angel trick to my eyes so I wouldn't see evidence of the true date. You lied to get me here. You lied about _everything_." Standing up, I faced Castiel, barely resisting the urge to hit him. "Why?"

"I did not lie about everything." Even with my tall frame looming over him, Cas did not seem intimidated. "It is as I told you. Paul Callan is one of the most important vessels that ever lived. He must be born. Only the unique combination of Lucifer's vessel and this woman can create that kind of vessel in this time period. It must be now. Nothing could be allowed to interfere, Sam. Not foreknowledge, not emotion, nothing. You couldn't know."

"What kind of vessel is he, Castiel? After all the lies you've told me, you owe me at least one truth."

With a curt nod, he said, "I suppose I do. Sam, he is the vessel of one of the Seraphim. Do you know what that is?"

"It's some kind of angel."

"Not just some kind of angel. The highest order of angel. They are so bright, not even I can look upon them. The task of guarding God's throne has been entrusted to them. Their might is strong and their vengeance absolute. If Michael fails to take Lucifer down, only a Seraph can defeat him.

"Seraphim normally do not walk the Earth. A vessel with the strength to contain a serpent of fire is excessively rare, the rarest of all vessels. This is why it was so important that Paul Callan be born. I'm sorry that I had to deceive you, but nothing could be allowed to keep the union of Sam Winchester and Theresa Callan from happening."

I just shook my head. "Why Tress? Is she some kind of vessel too?"

"No."

"Then how could she be the mother of a vessel like that?"

"Sam, you might as well ask why the Virgin Mary?" Castiel replied, shrugging. "We don't always understand how the formula works. It just does."

"So, now what? I've played my part, and now I'm just supposed to leave Tress and my son and go back to 2010?"

"Precisely," answered Castiel, and reached for my forehead.

"No!" I cried, smacking away his hand. "I'm not going to just be a sperm donor and leave my child to grow up without a father!"

"Theresa doesn't want to see you anymore. She will pass away in 1978 and Paul Callan will be raised by the church. That is as it is."

"No!" I yelled again. People passing us on the street turned to look. "If that's what is supposed to happen, then I'll _change_ it. We'll go get Dean and we'll both talk to Tress and get her to change her mind. He's the vessel of Michael the archangel. Both Tress and Father Calero will listen to him."

Castiel just shook his head. "Paul Callan grows up without his parents. That is as it is, and that's how it will stay. We're not taking any more chances with fate."

"Castiel!" I grabbed him by the lapels of his trench coat and yanked him forward.

"Hey there now!" A passing policeman crossed the street, rushing toward us. "What's the trouble?"

He stole my attention for a moment as I turned my head to look at him. When I turned back, Castiel touched the space between my eyes.

A split second later, we were back in the spare room at Sodalitas Quaerito, back in 2010. I took a moment to look around and then I shook Castiel in my hands, furious. "Goddamn it, no! You take me back! Take me back to 1972!"

Blood ran from his nose. The trip, as it often was, had been too much for the angel. Castiel was passing out in my grasp.

But I was too angry to stop. I shook his limp body and continued to yell at him. At some point, furious tears sprang from my eyes, and that was how everyone found us when they came running in.

My brother looked at me and then at Castiel and said, "Sam, what the hell is going on?"

Dean was a sight for sore eyes. As far as I was concerned, I hadn't seen him in months. "Dean! Tell him he has to take me back!" I sobbed. I shook Castiel again. "Make him take me back!"

"Take you back? Take you back where?"

"To 1972!" I cried. I was near hysterics; my ability to be coherent had temporarily left me.

"Sam, Cas isn't in any shape to take anybody anywhere. Come on, let them take him somewhere where he can rest up. Mr. Keel?"

Alva and Evelyn gathered Cas up as best they could and dragged him from the room.

That's when I caught sight of Paul. The adult version of my son. I couldn't help it, I moved toward him, but he backed away, startled by how I was looking at him. Dean told me later that I had a wild, hysterical look in my eyes. No wonder I scared him. "Paul? Hey Paul. Don't be afraid."

"What's going on?" he asked. "What did you do to Castiel?"

"Nothing, he..." How could I explain it? "Cas will be fine. Paul, I want to talk to you about your father. I know a little something about him."

Paul squinted at me suspiciously. "What? How could you know anything about my father?"

"Because... I just do. Paul, your father didn't leave you because he didn't care about you and your mother. No, he loved you both very much. Maybe your father wanted to be there to watch you grow up, but he was forced to leave. Isn't it possible that he was actually a very good man, a misunderstood man, caught up in something he couldn't control? Isn't that possible?"

It wasn't working, of course; the look on Paul's face spoke of nothing but offense. "Where do you get off saying anything about my father? He was a no-good bastard who left my mother and broke her heart, and then left me to rot in an orphanage my whole life. You don't know anything about him!"

Shaking my head, I babbled, "Did you ever think that your father couldn't be there for you because he hadn't even been born yet?" And then I collapsed to my knees, laughing hysterically. It was ludicrous, wasn't it? Here I was, faced with my son, and he was older than I was.

Paul, bewildered, just glared at me like I was insane.

Dean knelt down next to me, putting a hand on my shoulder. "Paul, I don't know what's going on, but I'll talk to my brother and find out, okay? Why don't you leave us alone?"

Nodding, Paul took one last gawking look at the crazy man puddled on the floor and left the room.

Dean turned to me. "Sam, come on." He took out a flask. "You drink from this, okay? After the performance you just put on, I'm sure you could use a belt of whiskey."

I didn't take the flask. Instead, I nearly tackled him in a hug, not only because I'd missed him, but because I needed the comfort of family. "Dean, he took me away from them," I babbled and sobbed. "He just took me away."

He couldn't have an idea in hell what I was talking about, but Dean hugged me anyway, patting my back. "It's okay, Sammy. Whatever's happened, it's okay. We'll sort it out."

I don't know how long we knelt on the floor like that, me having my little breakdown, but eventually the tears subsided and I was able to get control of myself. And I told Dean everything.

SEQUEL COMING SOON!


End file.
